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Mrs, Morse’s Girls. Page 277 











Mrs. Morse’s Girls. 



■■i 

MINNIE; e;. kenne;y. 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

■ 150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 



COPYRIGHT, 1887, 

BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 




\ 



CHAPTER I. 

Making Acquaintance 7 

CHAPTER II. 

Lois at Home , 19 

CHAPTER III. 

Home Life 28 

: . CHAPTER IV. 

Nora 40 

CHAPTER V. 

Bertie’s New Friend 48 

' CHAPTER VI. 

^ Bertie’s Good Times 57 


CHAPTER VII. 


The First Prayer-Meeting 


64 


4 

CONTENTS. 

Visits 

CHAPTER VIII. 

— - 72 

Bertie Goes Home. 

CHAPTER IX. 

79 

Estrangement 

CHAPTER X. 

85 


CHAPTER XL 

“ He shall carry the Lambs in his Bosom ” 96 


Comfort 

CHAPTER XII. 

103 

The Funeral 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Invitations — 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Tea-Party 

CHAPTER XV. 

Questions 

CHAPTER XVI. 

136 

Unrest 

CHAPTER XVII. 

143 

Mattie’s Conflict--- 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

151 


CONTENTS. 


5 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Peace i6o 

CHAPTER XX. 

Nina’s Decision i66 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Opposition 174 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Keeping the Faith 183 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Help 192 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

A Glad Discovery 200 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Communion Season 207 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Mattie’s Victory 214 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Influence for Good 221 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Etta’s Desire 228 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A First Step 238 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Coming Trials 248 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

A Hard Lesson 256 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Joy after Sorrow 266 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

All Safe at Last 274 


'ft. 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


CHAPTER I. 

MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. 

“There are three classes at present unpro- 
vided for, and I should be very glad to have you 
decide for yourself which class needs you most; I 
will not say which class you would find most 
agreeable. ’ ’ 

The sweet-faced woman standing beside the 
superintendent’s desk smiled. “No; I should 
not like to make the decision a matter of personal 
pleasure,” she answered thoughtfully. “Will 
you point out the classes to me, if you please? 
and then I can tell better where I can be the 
most helpful.” 

“The first is the young men’s Bible-class,” 
began Mr. Pearsall. “Our former pastor took 
charge of it, and we were in hopes that Mr. Morse 
would take his place. Perhaps you know whether 


8 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


he would be willing to add another burden to his 
Sunday duties.” 

“I know that he intends to take part in the 
Sunday-school work,” answered Mrs. Morse, 
“but it is his wish not to become the regular 
teacher of any class; he prefers, instead, to sup- 
ply those classes whose teachers may be unex- 
pectedly called away and neglect to procure a 
substitute. In this way he has a chance to be- 
come better acquainted with all the young peo- 
ple, and has an opportunity to speak to each one 
personally, which he could not have if he devoted 
himself to a single class. ’ ’ 

“I am very glad to hear that we may expect 
his assistance,” said Mr. Pearsall cordially. “Al- 
though I must confess I had greatly hoped that he 
would take these young men in charge, yet I can 
see that his plan is the better one.” 

“ Have you any other teacher in view ?” asked 
Mrs. Morse. 

“Well, I have often thought that Dr. Foster 
would make an excellent teacher for young men,” 
responded Mr. Pearsall. “ He is a Christian, lead- 
ing a most consistent and upright life, and has the 
power of attracting and interesting young people 
in a high degree. Unfortunately I cannot suc- 
ceed in interesting him in Sunday-school work. 
He approves of it and gives it his cordial support 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. 9 

in other ways, but I have heretofore been unsuc- 
cessful in my efforts to secure his services as a 
teacher. He partially promised, however, that 
if neither Mr. Morse nor yourself took charge 
of this class he would reconsider his determina- 
tion. ’ ’ 

“Then I shall certainly give him an opportu- 
nity to do so by considering that class as provided 
for,” answered Mrs. Morse. “Now the other 
classes.” 

“These little girls sitting near the organ are 
without a teacher, ’ ’ went on Mr. Pearsall. ‘ ‘ I 
think they will require far less care than the other 
class which I will point out to you. Those six 
young girls sitting near the door have not had a 
regular teacher for some weeks now. In many 
respects they are not an undesirable class. They 
are old enough to be quiet and orderly, and I think 
most of them are intelligent girls who enjoy study; 
but the trouble is there are such marked divisions 
in the class that it constitutes a very inharmoni- 
ous whole. The last teacher that had them in 
charge did not appear to have the happy faculty 
of uniting them, and they do not seem to have a 
single point of interest in common. I have 
thought it would be better to divide the class in 
some way, but have not been able to see my way 
clear to do so without creating bad feeling. If 


lo MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

you notice the girls you will see the necessity 
there is for avoiding anything that looks like par- 
tiality.” 

It was very easy even for a stranger to notice 
the divisions in this class. It was composed of 
young girls ranging in age from fourteen to six- 
teen years, who made three distinct groups. Two 
of the girls were richly dressed, and showed their 
consciousness of their superiority over their class- 
mates in this respect by sitting closely together at 
some distance from the others. The three who 
next attracted Mrs. Morse’s attention were girls 
whose dress, though showy with bright ribbons 
and cotton lace, lacked all the evidences of good 
taste and refinement which were visible in the 
quiet richness of the other two girls. They plain- 
ly showed their resentment at being slighted by 
ignoring the rest of the class and engaging in an- 
imated conversation among themselves, with their 
heads close together lest they should be over- 
heard. 

One member of the class seemed entirely alone, 
and Mrs. Morse could not mentally decide whether 
her isolation was the result of choice or accident. 
She wore a hard, cynical expression that did not 
look natural upon such a young face, and she 
seemed wholly to ignore the presence of her class- 
mates. Her dress, though well worn to the point 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. II 

of shabbiness, was neat and tasteful, and she was 
without ornament of any kind, a fact that seemed 
to give her a certain individuality, as her poorer 
companions were loaded with bangles, paste dia- 
monds, and heavy, glittering ear-rings, and the 
more fortunate girls wore as much jewelry as good 
taste would permit, if indeed they did not over- 
step the boundary-line. 

It was a class that a conscientious teacher 
might well shrink from taking in charge. It 
would be no easy task to assimilate such conflict- 
ing elements and bring them into Christian unity. 
The somewhat bold and reckless expression on 
the faces of three of the girls warned Mrs. Morse 
that it would need great tact and strong influence 
to develop the womanliness of their natures, while 
love would be needed to change the hard, bitter 
look that rested on the face of the one who held 
herself aloof from the others. 

The doll-like prettiness of one of the other two 
faces and the haughty expression of its compan- 
ion were not altogether encouraging; and as Mrs. 
Morse studied the class in silence for a few mo- 
ments Mr. Pearsall was half fearful that she would 
shrink from undertaking a task that seemed so 
difficult. 

It was not of the difficulties that Mrs. Morse 
was thinking, for she would not seek her own 


12 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


comfort and ease when work for the Master lay 
in her path, but she wondered whether some one 
else would not be better fitted for the position. 

“Had you not some teacher in view for this 
class ?’ ’ she asked. 

Mr. Pearsall shook his head decidedly. “No; 
I do not know of any one who is fitted for the 
difficulties that this special class presents ; and, 
moreover, no one is willing to take it in its pres- 
ent condition. There has been so much com- 
plaint about the ill-feeling in the class that teach- 
ers shrink from teaching it even for a single Sun- 
day. It will be hard work, I know, Mrs. Morse, 
and I am not among those who believe that a 
minister’s wife should bear the heaviest burdens 
in the church and Sunday-school, so I will not 
urge it upon you. Nevertheless I will say that if 
you are willing to take it I shall feel relieved 
from a heavy responsibility, for I had begun to 
feel that it was a hopeless task to provide them 
with a teacher.” 

“Then I will take the class for a time and see 
how I succeed, ’ ’ answered Mrs. Morse. “ If I 
find that I cannot bring about a better feeling 
among the girls, I wull resign it, in the hope that 
some one else may be better fitted for the task; 
but I will do my best before I give up. ’ ’ 

“ If you cannot manage them, I am sure no one 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. 13 

else can, and I shall divide the class,” answered 
Mr. Pearsall. “Shall I introduce you to your 
new charges at once ?’ ’ 

“If you please.” And Mrs. Morse followed 
the superintendent down the aisle, a swift-winged 
prayer for wisdom and strength arising from the 
depths of her heart. 

The new minister’s wife had been an object of 
curious scrutiny, and the three classes who were 
without a teacher studied her expectantly, won- 
dering upon which she would decide.' 

The little girls looked wistfully at her as her 
glance rested kindly upon them for a moment, 
and whispered to each other their childish hopes 
that she would be their new teacher; and they 
were wofully disappointed when they saw her 
going towards the class of older girls. 

“I wonder if she’s going to take our class,” 
whispered Nina to Florence. “ I wish she would; 
she’s so pleasant-looking. ” 

“She isn’t a bit stylish,” commented Flor- 
ence, whose first impulse was to measure Mrs. 
Morse by her standard of style. “Still she is 
pleasant-looking, as you say, Nina, and I’m sick 
of having a different teacher every Sunday. I 
hate this class, anyhow. I do wish Mr. Pearsall 
would put you and me into the young ladies’ Bi- 
ble-class. I’m going to ask him next year. I 


14 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


would now, only I ’m afraid he will say that we 
are n’ t old enough. ’ ’ 

“Do you think she’s going to be our teach- 
er?” asked Mattie, watching the kindly face 
eagerly. 

“ Do n’t care if she is,” said Nora. “ She ’ll 
be like all the rest. She wont take no notice of 
us, but just make a fuss over those stuck-up things 
that think they ’re too good to sit with us. We ’re 
just as good as they are, any day, if they do put 
on such airs.” 

‘ ‘ They think they ’re somebody great, ’ ’ chimed 
in Etta, who had caught Florence’s remark about 
the class. 

Only Eois Cramer sat with a face of stolid in- 
difference. “It doesn’t make any difference to 
me,” she said to herself bitterly; “she wont be 
nice to me; nobody ever is. I wouldn’t come to 
Sunday-school if mother didn’t feel so bad when 
I stay away. Florence and Nina wont notice me 
because I’m not dressed like a wax-doll, though 
I ’m just as nice as they are, and I ’d rather be all 
by myself than speak to these common things ;’ ’ 
and the glance of contempt she cast at Mattie, 
Nora, and Etta was not hard to interpret. 

“Well, young ladies, I have brought you a 
new teacher whom I am sure you will all wel- 
come,” said Mr. Pearsall pleasantly as he paused 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. 


15 

before the class. “This is Mrs. Morse, and I will 
leave her to make your acquaintance at leisure, as 
it is time for school to open now.” 

Before Mrs. Morse had time to do more than 
take her seat and smile brightly at the members 
of her new class the bell rang for silence and the 
opening hymn was given out. 

It was the beautiful consecration hymn, 

“ Take my life and let it be 
Consecrated, Lord, to thee 

and as Mrs. Morse looked at the bright, indiffer- 
ent faces of “her girls,” as she already termed 
them, she knew that the words had no response 
in their hearts, they were sung so lightly and 
carelessly. 

When the opening exercises were concluded, 
Mrs. Morse turned to Nina with a pleasant smile. 

‘ ‘ I shall have to ask you to give me a special in- 
troduction to each member of the class, as Mr. 
Pearsall did not have time to do so. Will you 
begin with yourself and give me the names, so 
that I can put them down in my class-book ?’ ’ 

“I am Nina Maynard,” began Nina, pleased 
that she had won the first notice from the new 
teacher, “and this is my friend Florence Esta- 
brook. Those three are Mattie Brown, Etta 
Smith, and—” 

“Wait a moment,” interrupted Mrs. Morse, 


MRS. MORSEL’S GIRLS. 


l6 

as Nina was volubly rattling off the names. “I 
am afraid I shall not know to whom the names 
belong if you do not give me more time between 
each introduction. This is Mattie Brown, is it?’' 
and she smiled at Mattie as she answered. 

“And your name?” Mrs. Morse went on 
when she had written Mattie’s name. 

Her eyes rested kindly on Etta, and the angry 
flush that had risen to the young girl’s cheek 
when Nina had so hastily rattled off* her name, 
subsided when she saw that Mrs. Morse’s manner 
was just as kind to her as to Nina. . 

Nora Davis’ name came next and then Mrs. 
Morse turned to Lois. 

If there was one thing that Lois resented and 
grieved over more than another in the circumstan- 
ces which she considered the misfortunes of her 
lot, it was her name. Ugly and stiff she called 
it, since it was not capable of the endearing di- 
minutives of other names. She particularly dis- 
liked telling a stranger her name, and when she 
answered Mrs. Morse’s inquiry her manner grew 
even more repellant and sullen. 

“ Lois Cramer,” she said frigidly, with no re- 
sponse to the friendly glance of her new teacher. 

“That is my favorite name,” said Mrs. Morse 
as she wrote it in the class-book. ‘ ‘ I think it is 
a beautiful name in itself, and then it was the 


MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. 1 7 

name of a very dear friend besides, and her mem- 
ory lends it very sweet associations. ’ ’ 

For a fleeting instant the sullen look vanished, 
but it returned before Mrs. Morse had time to 
note the change of expression. 

It was the first time any one had ever admired 
the quaint, sweet name, and Fois felt a natural 
girlish pleasure at Mrs. Morse’s openly expressed 
admiration. 

“What a queer name!” or “How old-fash- 
ioned and ugly!” were the comments she had 
heard from those who were frank enough to ex- 
press their opinion, and she had grown sensitive 
on the subject. 

Mrs. Morse had no idea how gratefully her 
approbation fell upon Fois’ ears, as she gave no 
sign of her gratification, and the teacher was con- 
scious only of a feeling of rebuff when her friend- 
liness met with no response. 

When Mrs. Morse opened her Bible and began 
to teach the lesson for the day, she was surprised 
to find that but one of the girls knew where it was 
or had any idea of the subject. Lois answered 
her question reluctantly, seemingly annoyed at 
her own knowledge; and the others frankly con- 
fessed that they never looked at the lesson until 
they came to Sunday-school. 

Mrs. Morse soon learned that they had never 


Mrs Morse's Girls. 


2 


i8 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


been in the habit of thoroughly studying the les- 
son or, in fact, of taking any interest in it further 
than merely reading it over in the class and an- 
swering a few questions upon the text. They 
seemed quite ignorant of Bible history, and evi- 
dently preferred laughing and talking among 
themselves to paying any heed to the lesson. 

Mrs. Morse had the rare gift which so many 
teachers lack. She possessed the power of inter- 
esting her scholars almost against their inclina- 
tions, and as Mr. Pearsall from his desk saw the 
bright, eager faces turned towards their new 
teacher, he felt assured of her final success. 


I.OIS AT HOME. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

LOIS AT HOME. 

When the superintendent’s bell announced 
the close of the time allotted to the study of the 
lesson, Mrs. Morse breathed a little sigh of satis- 
faction. 

She had made considerable progress in her 
new undertaking. She had won the attention of 
her class and felt tolerably sure that they had 
been interested, and to insure their study during 
the week she had allotted to each one some sub- 
ject to prepare. 

She had won impulsive Nina^s heart too, for 
at the close of the lesson the little gloved hand 
had been slipped into her own with a loving 
pressure. 

Florence was neither as impulsive nor as de- 
monstrative as her friend and rather prided her- 
self upon the length of time she could withhold 
her friendship, so Mrs. Morse was not so sure of 
having won her. 

Mattie was pleased by having the new teacher 
share her hymnal during the singing, and her 
two friends were also gratified, for they inferred 


20 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


from this simple act that Mrs. Morse would not 
exhibit the preference they had been accustomed 
to see other teachers show for Nina and Flor- 
ence. 

Fois alone had held herself aloof. She had 
been interested in the lesson in spite of herself, 
by the clear explanations, but she had done her 
best to conceal the fact. Mrs. Morse sought in 
vain to brighten the unhappy expression upon 
her face, but her kindliest efforts were met and 
repelled by the girl’s persistent coldness. 

The instant that school was dismissed, Lois, 
with a cool “Good afternoon,” hastily took her 
departure, while the others lingered about their 
new teacher. 

“ I’m so glad you’re going to be our teacher,” 
said Mattie, with a defiant glance at Nina and 
Florence. “We’re going to have a real good 
lesson next Sunday.” 

“What a fuss Mattie is making over her!” 
thought Lois disdainfully, glancing back as she 
passed through the door. “I don’t see how she 
can like to have those horrid girls near her, but 
she seems to think they’re just as good as any 
one. She wont get me making a fuss over her 
very soon, anyhow.” 

Lois walked on rapidly, her swift feet carrying 
her past those who had been before her in leaving 


LOIS AT HOME. 


21 


the Sunday-school, but were slowly sauntering 
homeward. 

After she had gone a few squares along the^ 
avenue she turned into a quiet street and walked ‘ 
rapidly along it until she came to a tall brick 
apartment house. Scarcely noticing the children 
who were sitting on the steps, she brushed hastily 
past them and ran up stairs. 

The cloud left her face as she opened a door 
and went into a room, small and plainly fur- 
nished, but beautifully neat and homelike, where 
a child sat in a large chair by the window. 

“Sister!” he cried joyfully, and as Lois 
stooped over him and gave him a tender kiss he 
clung to her neck lovingly. 

“Are you too tired to hold me a little bit?” 
he asked pleadingly. “My back hurts so this 
afternoon.” 

Such a poor little misshapen figure it was that 
Lois lifted gently in her arms— drawn out of all 
shape, with a protruding lump between the shoul- 
ders, and useless, wasted limbs. 

A very heavy burden of suffering and de- 
formity it seemed for a little child to bear, and 
you would have turned away from the sight with 
swift tears of pity, unless you had caught a 
glimpse of the face first. 

Soft yellow hair floated down and made a 


22 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


beautiful veil over the poor little misshapen shoul- 
ders, the childish face was very perfect in con- 
tour and coloring, although suffering and disease 
had made the skin almost transparent, and the 
great blue eyes had an unchildlike look of pa- 
tiently endured pain and wistful entreaty. 

Ivois laid aside her hat, and with little Bertie 
nestled in her arms sat down in the large rocking- 
chair by the window and gently rocked to and fro. 

Her face was so wholly changed by the love 
that illumined it as she laid her cheek upon the 
soft hair that Mrs. Morse would scarcely have 
recognised her could she have seen her now. All 
the moodiness was gone from her expression and 
the hardness from her tone as she talked to the 
little brother whom she loved with an affection 
that amounted to idolatry. 

‘‘Don’t you want me to help you, mother?” 
she asked, as her mother, after listening to their 
conversation for a while with a pleased look on 
her face, rose and began to make preparations for 
their simple meal. 

“No, my dear. There isn’t much to do, and 
I would rather have you hold Bertie; he has been 
waiting for you so long. ’ ’ 

“Tell me what you did at Sunday-school,” 
Bertie said at last. 

“Oh, we sang, and we studied lessons, and 


LOIS AT" HOME. 


23 


we sang again,” said Lois playfully. “ Our class 
has got a new teacher too, Bertie. I guess you ’d 
like her,” she added as she remembered how kind 
and tender the face of the new teacher could be, 
and she imagined how Mrs. Morse would look at 
Bertie if she could see him. 

“ Sister, I wish you would take me to Sunday- 
school once more,” pleaded Bertie; but a hard 
look came into Lois’ face again as she heard his 
entreaty, and the chair swung vigorously back 
and forth. 

Once she had taken Bertie with her, thinking 
it would brighten the lonely child’s life to go to 
Sunday-school and hear the singing and listen to 
the lesson. 

Lois was far more sensitive about Bertie’s de- 
formity than the child was himself, and shrank 
painfully from the thought of letting strangers 
see him and pity him; but he had begged so 
eagerly to go that she resolved to gratify him at 
any cost. 

She wrapped him in a soft white shawl, trying 
to hide his misshapen figure as much as possible, 
and took the light form in her arms. No one 
seemed to notice him as she passed along the 
street, and she began to hope that the shawl ef- 
fectually hid him. 

She seated herself in her usual place at Sun- 


24 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


day-school, and loosened the shawl a little that 
Bertie might not be too warm. 

The girls had not noticed her at first, but when 
she made a movement to unfasten the shawl they 
looked around and saw Bertie upon her lap. They 
were kind-hearted, and would not for the world 
have intentionally grieved either the child or his 
sister, but they were thoughtless, as girls often 
are, and Lois was very sensitive. 

“ Oh, my ! a’ n’t his back awful ?” exclaimed 
Mattie unthinkingly; and before Lois could flash 
an angry glance at her Etta had made a similar 
exclamation. 

With a pitiful little cry Bertie turned towards 
his sister and buried his face in her neck, clinging 
tightly to her. Lois glanced about her as she put 
her arms protectingly around the child, with a 
look of pain and anger on her face, and just then 
she saw a little shiver run through the young lady 
who was teaching the class that day as she looked 
at Bertie. 

That was enough for Lois, and springing to 
her feet, her face pale with the intensity of her 
anger, she rushed out of the room, holding Bertie 
so tightly to her that the child cried out with pain 
before she realized what she was doing. 

If she had only understood the real feelings of 
both the girls and their teacher she would have 


I.OIS AT HOME. 


25 


been saved much suffering. The girls had meant 
to show their sympathy, though they had ex- 
pressed themselves with rough candor; and as for 
their teacher, she had no thought of appearing 
shocked at the child’s misshapen form. 

But Lois never stopped to think that anything 
but horror and disgust could have been expressed 
by the young lady’s movement; and the remem- 
brance of the girls’ speeches roused her anger to 
white heat. Never, never should her little brother 
be exposed to the unkindness of strangers again, 
she protested, and her passion of anger and grief 
almost frightened her mother. 

Bertie had not asked again to go to Sunday- 
school for a long time, but more than a year had 
elapsed since then, and he had forgotten how 
frightened he had been at being the object of so 
much observation and so many remarks. 

When he asked Lois to take him with her 
again the old anger blazed up at the remembrance 
of the former time when she had yielded to his 
request. 

“No, Bertie,” she said in more decided tones 
than she had ever used to him before; “no; you 
mustn’t go to Sunday-school. You don’t want 
to go, darling,” she went on caressingly as a 
grieved look came in his face. “Don’t you re- 
member those horrid girls and how rude they 


26 


MRS. MORSK’S GIRI.S. 


were? Sister ’ll sing all the pretty hymns to you 
after supper, and tell you pretty Bible stories, and 
that will be a great deal nicer.” 

Presently tea was ready and Lois carried Ber- 
tie to the table, attending to all his wants with a 
tenderness and thoughtfulness that were beyond 
her years. 

His appetite was often capricious, and to-night 
he did not seem hungry for the plain fare; so Lois 
spread his bread with the jelly that was his spe- 
cial treat,, and, cutting it into tiny mouthfuls, 
beguiled him into eating by pretending that the 
little pieces of bread were soldiers, who must be 
captured and put into his mouth for a fort. 

After tea she put him back into the depths of 
the easy-chair and helped her mother clear away 
the remains of the supper and wash the dishes ; 
then opening a little old-fashioned piano, she sang 
the child’s favorite hymns, the tinkling accompan- 
iment, that sounded like the tones of an antiqua- 
ted spinnet, making her fresh young voice seem 
all the sweeter and clearer. 

None of her classmates ever guessed what a 
voice Lois had, for she would not sing in Sunday- 
school, she cherished such bitter, resentful feel- 
ings against the girls; but by her voice she hoped 
to earn many a comfort for Bertie before many 
years had passed. 


LOIS AT HOME. 


27 


Four years before her father had died sudden- 
ly, leaving his wife and children dependent upon 
a scanty income that scarcely supplied their sim- 
plest needs even by dint of the severest economy; 
and Lois looked forward eagerly to the time when 
she could earn enough to gratify Bertie’s wishes 
as well as brighten her mother’s careworn look. 

She was studying to fit herself for a teacher, 
and every day she rejoiced that the realization of 
her hopes was so much nearer at hand. 


23 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


CHAPTER III. 

HOME LIFE. 

Nina left Sunday-school in a very enthusiastic 
mood, and she was quite disappointed when she 
failed in receiving any sympathy from Florence. 

“I think Mrs. Morse is just perfectly lovely!” 
she exclaimed rapturously. 

“I have heard you say that about people be- 
fore the first time you met them, and then you 
have entirely changed your mind on a little longer 
acquaintance,” answered Florence calmly. 

Nina flushed with annoyance, but she would 
not yield her point. “Well, Mrs. Morse is differ- 
ent. I am sure I shall like her better every day. 
Do n’t you think she ’s lovely, Florence ?” 

“I can’t say that I do,” answered Florence; 
then, as Nina uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
she added, “You must remember that I am not 
given to taking such violent fancies as you do, 
Nina. Mrs. Morse certainly seems to be very 
agreeable, but I shall not make up my mind until 
I have known her long enough to form an opinion 
deliberately.” 

Poor little Nina felt very ignorant and inex- 


HOME LIFE. 29 

perienced by the side of the friend she considered 
so much wiser than herself. 

Florence had won a reputation among her girl 
friends for great wisdom merely because she af- 
fected great deliberation in pronouncing judg- 
ment, and she never risked this reputation by 
indulging in any sudden impulse, which indeed 
she rarely felt. 

It was strange that so strong a friendship could 
exist between two so utterly dissimilar in their 
dispositions and tastes. Nina loved Florence with 
all the warmth of her impulsive nature, never 
expecting much return for her admiration and 
affection ; and Florence calmly accepted her 
friend’s devotion as a matter of course and a nat- 
ural tribute to her superior talents. 

Sometimes Florence’s deliberation tried Nina’s 
patience not a little, as it did this afternoon; but 
generally she considered all that her friend did 
and said as the standard by which to measure all 
others. She did not say anything further about 
her new teacher, finding that she could expect no 
sympathy from Florence, and she was not alto- 
gether sorry when she reached her own door a few 
moments later and bade Florence good-by. 

Nina was a petted only daughter, and what- 
ever concerned her happiness was of the deepest 
interest to her parents, so she had willing audi- 


30 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


tors at the tea-table when she gave them an en- 
thusiastic account of her new teacher. 

“I don’t suppose any one would call her ex- 
actly pretty,” she said, “but there’s something 
about her face that makes me like to look at her. 
Then her eyes are so kind and loving, yet they 
look as if they could see right through you, too. 
She makes the lesson so interesting, somehow. I 
never supposed there was anything to study in it, 
but there ’s ever so much. I ’ve got a lot of ref- 
erences to look up for next time, and I don’t 
mean to forget it.” 

“I’m glad you like your new teacher so 
much,” said her father with a pleased smile. 
“You have complained so much about the class 
that I had thought of taking you away.” 

“Well, it is a horrid class,” said Nina. 
“Florence and I are the only nice girls in it. 
Tois Cramer isn’t as common as the others, but 
she’s so surly and disagreeable that I never 
speak to her if I can help it. Still, I don’t mind 
the girls now we ’ve got such a nice teacher, for 
I never notice them, anyway ; and though of 
course it’s disagreeable to have such girls in the 
class, I would n’t leave on their account now.” 

“I think it’s very strange that Mr. Pearsall 
should put such girls in a class with you and 
Florence,” said her mother. “ He ought not to 


HOME EIFE. 


31 


expect you to mix with them, and I ’m glad you 
don’t notice them. Perhaps they will leave of 
their own accord when they find that they are not 
wanted. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I might have had some hopes of that before 
Mrs. Morse took the class,” said Nina, “but I 
don’t believe they will now, for I must say that 
on that one point they seem to agree with me in 
liking her.” 

“I shouldn’t think she would want to have 
anything to do with them,” said the mother, 
glancing proudly at the pretty face crowned with 
masses of fluffy golden hair. “It would be so 
much better if she had a class of nice, refined 
girls. It ’s a waste of time to try to benefit such 
girls as those three factory hands, or whatever 
they are, for all their thoughts are on dress, and 
frightful taste they have too. The combination 
of colors on that Smith girl’s hat made me actual- 
ly shudder. She was sitting in one of those side 
pews where I could not help seeing her every time 
I raised my eyes.” 

Any one who had observed the dresses of the 
two girls in the afternoon would have thought 
that Nina’s dress had cost more thought as well 
as more money than Etta’s, but this did not 
occur to Mrs. Maynard. It was only in Nina’s 
poorer classmates that she considered an undue 


32 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


attention to dress reprehensible, and it was really 
their lack of taste that she regarded as their chief 
offence. 

“You would shudder all the time, mamma, if 
you sat beside them in Sunday-school,” laughed 
Nina as she passed her cup to be refilled with the 
fragrant tea, and she proceeded to give an amu- 
sing account of Etta’s jewelry and her pride 
in it. 

If Mrs. Morse could have heard the conversa- 
tion she might well have doubted whether she 
could ever carry out the task she had determined 
upon, of bringing these inharmonious elements in 
her class into unity. 

In the one short hour she had spent with these 
girls she had gained a tolerably good idea of the 
diversity of their interests and of the difficulty in 
finding one common ground upon which they 
could all meet. 

Her first task must be to win their hearts, and 
then by means of this human love she could lead 
them to their Saviour. With such an object be- 
fore her, she trusted that by patience and tact 
she should win the affections of even the perverse 
Lois. Impulsive Nina and frank, outspoken Mat- 
tie had already responded to her interest in them; 
and as she recalled the loving pressure of Nina’s 
hand and Mattie’s expressed pleasure, she felt 


HOME UEE. 33 

that she had made a good beginning in her new 
work. 

As Mattie walked homeward with Etta, who 
lived in the same street, the conversation naturally 
turned upon their new teacher. Mattie was an 
affectionate, warm-hearted girl, and Mrs. Morse’s 
kindly manner had completely won her heart. 
Her previous teacher had unfortunately shown a 
marked preference for Florence and Nina, and 
Mattie had strongly resented it; while her experi- 
ence with the other teachers who had taken charge 
of the class temporarily had confirmed her in the 
idea that no teacher would take any interest in 
her or in her two friends, whose cause she made 
her own. 

Sensitive though she was to slights, real or 
fancied, she could not detect the slightest partial- 
ity in Mrs. Morse’s manner, and the smile with 
which she returned Nina’s hand-clasp had not 
been more kindly than the pleased expression with 
which she had listened to Mattie’s impulsive ap- 
proval of her new teacher. 

“ I was beginning to think I would quit going 
to Sunday-school,” Etta remarked; “but I be- 
lieve I ’m going to like Mrs. Morse better than I 
ever liked any one.” 

“Well, I know I do,” said Mattie emphati- 
cally. “ She was just every bit as nice to us as 
3 


Mrs. Morse's Girls. 


34 


MRS. morse’s GIRES. 


she was to those two stuck-up things, and I was 
ashamed of the way Lois Cramer acted to her 
when she was so pleasant. She ’s a cross, ugly 
thing, anyway, and I don’t believe she’s ever 
civil to any one. I mean to study real hafd this 
week and show Mrs. Morse that I can learn as 
well as anybody, even if I could n’t answer a sin- 
gle question to-day.” 

“Didn’t she make the lesson interesting!” 
asked Etta. “I never expected any one could 
possibly make it so much like a story. Well, 
here I am at home already. Can’ t you come in a 
little while ?’ ’ 

“No, I must hurry home, for it’s my night 
for getting supper,” answered Mattie. 

So Etta bade her friend good-by reluctantly, 
and lingered on the doorstep for a few moments to 
chat with a neighbor who had brought her baby 
out for a little fresh air. 

At last she left the outdoor sunshine and went 
slowly up the steep flights of stairs that must be 
ascended before she could reach the two rooms 
she called home. Not a very inviting home, 
for there was nothing cosey or homelike in its 
appearance, although it was scrupulously clean 
and the elderly woman who sat by the window 
reading was the very impersonation of neat- 
ness. 


home: ufe:. 


35 


She looked up, with an impatient expression 
upon her sharp-featured face, as Etta entered. 

“ So you ’ve got home at last !” was her salu- 
tation. “Here I’ve been waiting half an hour 
or more to go out while you’ve been dawdling 
along home. Now you take off your things and 
get the kettle on. I ’ll be back by the time sup- 
per ’s ready;” and she went out, closing the door 
after her with an energy that showed her annoy- 
ance. 

A sullen look clouded Etta’s bright face. 
“She’s bound to find something to scold about, 
of course,” she murmured angrily. “I can’t 
have a minute to myself Sundays, or week-days 
either, for the matter of that. If I say a word 
back to her, then she begins to tell me all she’s 
done for me; and I s’ pose she has been good to 
me, though I ’d rather have been brought up in 
an orphan asylum than have it thrown at me 
every time I don’t please her.” 

Etta’s father and mother had died within a 
few short weeks of each other when she was but 
a little over a year old; and very reluctantly her 
father’s maiden sister had assumed the responsi- 
bility of caring for the little orphan. 

She was not fond of children and had but a 
slender stock of patience to expend upon them, 
and she regarded it as a great trial that she should 


36 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

be obliged to bring a child into the quiet, orderly 
room she called home and thus add to her ex- 
penses. Only a feeling of family pride had influ- 
enced her to offer to take Etta. She felt as if it 
would be a disgrace to the family to have her 
niece placed in an orphan asylum, and for this 
sole reason she had opened her home to her. 

In some ways she had cared for the child faith- 
fully, and it never entered her mind that she had 
not done her whole duty to the motherless little 
one. Etta had always been comfortably, if plain- 
ly, clad, and she had never wanted for an abund- 
ance of plain, wholesome food; but there her 
aunt’s care had ceased. 

Martha Smith was not an affectionate or de- 
monstrative woman, and even if her heart had 
warmed towards the child, she would probably 
not have given any outward sign of her affection. 
Eooking upon her only as an unwelcome encum- 
brance, she treated her with a coldness that was 
as hard to bear as actual unkindness for a girl of 
Etta’s impulsive, loving nature. 

Almost from babyhood she keenly felt her un- 
welcome dependence upon her aunt, and she 
looked eagerly forward to earning her own living. 
When she was only eight years old she had left 
school to take a position as cash-girl in the large 
dry-goods store in which she was now a sales- 


HOME LIFE. 


37 


woman ; and the happiest part of her life had been 
since she could feel that she was paying her own 
way at home and could spend all her earnings over 
the amount of her board on dress and ornaments. 

Considering her loveless life, with so brief a 
space of childhood, it was not to be wondered at 
that her face wore a rather fretful and unhappy 
expression. 

In the depths of her heart lurked a passionate 
longing for love, and though she never spoke of 
this feeling, she envied Mattie Brown the large 
family of little brothers and sisters who clung 
about their good-natured elder sister as soon as 
she entered the house, and whose innumerable 
needs were always draining Mattie’s purse. 

Etta contrasted her home with her friend’s 
bitterly. The perfect neatness of the rooms she 
shared with her aunt was missing at Mattie’s, for 
disorder and untidiness were rampant where there 
were so many little ones “and only one pair of 
hands to do everything with,” as the mother com- 
plained sometimes. 

Mrs. Brown could ill afford to spare her eldest 
daughter’s help, -and yet her weekly wages were a 
great assistance to the slender means of the family; 
so the mother struggled on as best she might, 
knowing that Mattie’s willing hands would come 
to her rescue in the evening. 


38 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


But Etta forgot to note the disorder; she only 
thought of the welcome that awaited Mattie in 
the evenings from all, from the tired father grimy 
with his work in the coalyard, down to Nan, the 
wee, toddling baby; and she wondered bitterly 
why her aunt could not be different and show her 
some of the love that others had in such abund- 
ance. 

Once Mattie guessed at her friend’s feeling. 
One evening when Etta had gone home with her 
she had bidden little Nan hug her; and as Etta 
felt the soft baby arms clasp tightly about her 
neck a swift rush of tears filled her eyes, and she 
buried her face in the plump neck and kept it 
hidden there till Nan grew restless under the pro- 
longed embrace. 

Mattie saw the wet eyes and guessed at the 
cause, but with unusual tact she did not speak of 
it, and only did her best to make Etta feel that 
she had a place in the home circle. 

If Mattie had been disposed to look about her 
for causes of self-pity, she might have found 
abundant reason to be dissatisfied with her lot in 
life; but her buoyant, hopeful disposition, abound- 
ing in good-nature towards every one with whom 
she came in contact, made her contented and 
happy. True, she worked hard and most of her 
earnings had to go into the general household 


HOME EIEE. 


39 


fund; but she loved the little ones so dearly that 
she did not grudge the money that was expended 
on their necessities. She never contrasted her life 
with that of young girls outwardly more favored 
who came into the store to make purchases, ap- 
parently as free from care as butterflies. She' only 
looked at the lives of her companions, and in this 
comparison her own life seemed a very happy one, 
though Nina and Florence, or even Fois, might 
have looked rather scornfully upon her home sur- 
roundings. 


40 


MRS. MORSK’S GIRRS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

NORA. 

Nora Davis lived but a few doors from Mat- 
tie, and as the two girls were employed in the 
same store, they usually came and went together. 
They were fast friends as well as companions, and 
Nora looked to Mattie as her champion in any 
trouble she might get into in business or among 
her companions. 

Etta did the same, so Mattie was decidedly the 
leader of the trio. Mrs. Morse had discerned this 
fact in a very few minutes’ observation, and she 
knew that in winning Mattie she had won Nora 
and Etta also. 

Perhaps Nora’s home was rather above that of 
her two companions in the matters of comfort and 
display. Her father was a good mechanic and 
earned fair wages, which enabled him to make a 
very comfortable home for his family ; and as 
Nora’s stepmother was of an ambitious turn of 
mind, the little parlor was gorgeous with bright- 
colored tidies and showy chromos. 

Nora’s earnings were almost entirely spent 
upon her wardrobe, for her father insisted that she 


NORA. 


41 


should pay no more towards her own support than 
her stepbrother did towards his expenses; and as 
he was a mischievous, fun-loving boy, who did 
not take kindly to labor of any kind, he was far 
more frequently out of employment than at work. 
Although Nora often complained of her step- 
mother’s partiality to Tom, still she was very 
kindly treated as a general thing. It was only 
when her wishes and Tom’s came into collision 
that she was obliged to give up her own way; and 
this was rarely the case, for Tom was fond of his 
stepsister and did not exact much self-denial from 
her. 

As the little family gathered around the sup- 
per-table Nora gleefully announced that she had 
a new Sunday-school teacher, and after enlarging 
upon Mrs. Morse’s pleasant manners and kind 
face she repeated all that she could remember of 
the lesson. 

Even her father grew interested and laid down 
the Sunday newspaper, that he was trying to read 
between the mouthfuls of supper, while he lis- 
tened. 

“I hope you’ll be able to keep her,” he said 
when Nora paused for breath. “Your class has 
been having such bad luck with your teachers 
that I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t have 
this one long. She must be a smart one to tell 


42 


MRS. morse’s GIRES. 


you all that in one lesson. I wouldn’t mind 
hearing her talk myself.” 

“Oh, she makes everything just like a story,” 
answered Nora. “She gave us something to 
study for next Sunday too. We never had a 
teacher that did that before. Why, I never even 
thought of looking to see where the lesson was till 
I got to Sunday-school. I guess I ’m going to 
like her first-rate too. She don’t seem to like 
those two dressed-up girls a bit better than the 
rest of us. ’ ’ 

“Goodness knows you’re as good as any one 
else, as far as dressing goes,” said her mother, 
looking at Nora’s showy dress half proudly. 
“You put nigh every cent you earn on your back, 
and it all shows for its cost too. In my eyes you 
look a heap more stylish than that Bstabrook girl, 
if her father is rich. She shows no taste about her 
clothes; she always wears such dark, quiet things 
that you might think they didn’t cost anything 
unless you looked at them well.” And Mrs. 
Davis’ eyes rested with evident admiration upon 
Nora’s jacket of crimson cotton velvet, with its 
bright buttons. 

“Anyhow, sis, you’re the best-looking girl of 
the whole crowd,” said Tom with a look of pride; 
and Nora’s face grew bright as she listened to the 
words of praise. 



Airs. Morse’s Ciirls. Page 43 






i 







Mi 





J 

\ 


-* 1 





A 


p 


NORA. 


43 


In tlie secret depths of her heart she felt that 
there was something about Florence Bstabrook’s 
toilets that she could not hope to approach, no 
matter how showy her cheap satins and bright 
velvet might be; and she had enough taste to pre- 
fer Florence’s rich though quiet costume to her 
own, although she had not the faintest idea how 
to produce the same results. 

Still she had a great deal of faith in her mo- 
ther’s taste, for was not her parlor far superior to 
that of any of the neighbors? So Mrs. Davis’ 
assurance that her dresses were far prettier than 
Florence’s comforted her not a little, for she was 
intensely jealous of her classmate. 

After supper, when the dishes were washed 
and put away, Nora put on her hat and went to 
Mattie’s house, according to her usual custom. 

As she reached the door the sound of rattling 
dishes proved to her that she had been more ex- 
peditious than Mattie in clearing away the tea- 
things and getting ready for their evening walk, 
so she was not surprised when she entered the 
room to see Mattie, enveloped in a huge apron, 
vigorously attacking the great pile of unwashed 
plates and cups and saucers, with the children 
clustered so closely about her that their efforts to 
help retarded rather than aided the completion of 
the task. 


44 


MRS. morse’s GIRRS. 


The tired mother swung slowly backward and 
forward in the big, old-fashioned rocking-chair in 
which Mattie had forcibly installed her, and as 
she enjoyed the rare luxury of rest, watched her 
eldest daughter with evident affection and pride. 

“Now, Nan, shall I have to fish you out of the 
dish-water and put you in the oven to dry ?’ ’ de- 
manded Mattie with mock severity as she found 
that the baby had taken advantage of her mo- 
mentary inattention when she turned to greet 
Nora and had tried her best to drag herself out of 
her high chair into the dish-pan. 

“ I ’ll hold her. Come here to me. Nan, wont 
you?” asked Nora; but the baby drooped her 
head shyly and put her dirty finger in her mouth. 

“She’ll be all right here if I keep watch of 
her,” said Mattie. “She isn’t clean enough for 
you to take when you have your best dress on, 
anyhow. You would n’ t think, to look at her, that 
she ’s been washed twice to-day. She do n’t keep 
clean while I’m dressing her; but I s’ pose dirt 
makes you all the sweeter, don’t it. Nan?” 

The little one laughed and made unintelligible 
efforts to answer; then finding Nora’s eyes upon 
her, she hid her face in her fat arms and peeped 
shyly through them. 

“ Is Etta coming around?” asked Nora. 

“Yes, if she can get off from her aunt. We 


NORA. 


45 - 

got home so late last Sunday night that she said 
Etta shouldn’t go any more; so maybe she can’t 
beg off. I told her we would stop for her, any- 
how. ’ ’ 

“Her aunt is awful strict with her,” remarked 
Nora; “I’d hate to have to live with her. A 
stepmother’s bad enough.” 

“I don’t see why she wouldn’t let the poor 
girl go for a walk Sunday evening,” remarked 
Mrs. Brown, who had no idea of restraining Mat- 
tie in anything she wanted to do. “ You ’re shut 
up in the store every day from morning till night, 
and a little fresh air on Sunday a’ n’t any more 
than you need and deserve. There can’t any 
harm come to you when you all go together so.” 

“There, now I’m done!” exclaimed Mattie 
triumphantly as she drew the last knife from the 
greasy dish-water and wiped it on the questionable- 
looking towel. Clean towels and an abundance 
of hot water and soap were unnecessary luxuries 
in dish-washing according to Mrs. Brown’s no- 
tions, and as none of the family were fastidious, 
no one ever offered any objection to her way of 
doing things. 

Mattie unfastened the big apron and tossed it 
aside, and, going to a small looking-glass that 
hung on the wall, began to arrange her hair with 
the comb which depended from a string. The 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


46 

dark hair that, left to itself, would have fallen in 
little wavy locks about her forehead, was combed 
and frizzled with a hot slate-pencil till it resem- 
bled the mane of a shaggy Shetland pony. 

Just as Mattie was putting on her hat with 
great care, so as not to disarrange a hair, Etta’s 
steps were heard on the stairs, and in another mo- 
ment she entered the room, breathless with rapid 
walking, and threw herself into the nearest chair. 

“Such a time as I’ve had to get to come!” 
she panted. “ I tell you, I had to put my wits to 
work to get off! I told aunt our new teacher 
wanted us all to go to church to-night, and so she 
let me come. I must get back early now or I’ll 
get into an awful scrape. If she mistrusts I 
haven’t been to church, she wont let me off 
again.” 

The girls laughed at what they considered a 
clever ruse, and Mrs. Brown joined them. 

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Mattie; 
“we’ll all walk along together right past the 
house, just as if we were on our way to church, 
and then she wont be suspecting anything; and 
I ’ll see that you get home again by a quarter past 
nine at the latest, Etta; so you needn’t worry.” 

A few moments later the three girls walked 
decorously along on the side of the street opposite 
Etta’s home, and Aunt Martha, looking from be- 


NORA. 


47 

hind her curtains, saw them going in the direction 
of the church and little suspected that it was part 
of the plan to deceive her. 

It was really from a desire to do her duty to 
her niece that she had forbidden the Sunday even- 
ing walks, which lasted sometimes till as late as 
half-past ten; and knowing nothing of the young 
men who accompanied the three girls, she had 
determined to put a stop to the matter by keeping 
Ktta at home with her in the evenings. 

When, however, Ettta had told her that the 
minister’s wife had taken the class of which she 
was a member. Aunt Martha thought it very 
probable that she had urged the girls to attend 
church in the evening; and as Etta evidently 
liked her. Miss Smith thought her niece’s desire 
to go to church a very natural one. 

After the trio were safely out of Aunt Martha’s 
range of vision they turned into another street and 
were presently joined by three overgrown boys or 
very young men, and the party walked on to- 
gether, laughing and talking noisily and merrily. 

If Mrs. Morse could have listened to them, she 
might have been well nigh in despair at the 
thought of ever producing serious impressions on 
minds apparently so unimpressible and frivolous. 


48 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


CHAPTER V. 

BERTIE’S NEW FRIEND. 

A MONTH had passed slowly away, and Mrs. 
Morse was beginning to hope that she had won 
for herself a place in the hearts of all her class 
but two. 

Florence still maintained her haughty, indif- 
ferent demeanor, and although she was too intel- 
ligent a girl not to be interested in the lesson, 
when Mrs. Morse spared no pains to make it at- 
tractive as well as instructive, she concealed her 
interest as much as possible, and was unapproach- 
able on all other subjects. 

Nina’s affection for her teacher was no passing 
fancy, as Florence constantly predicted it would 
soon become, but her warm heart responded to 
Mrs. Morse’s affectionate interest, and she was 
eager to prove her love by doing all that she 
could to please her teacher. 

Mattie, Etta, and Nora were the lady’s faithful 
adherents, and spared no efforts to have a perfect 
lesson that they might win her smile of approval. 
But Eois still remained as frigid as at first; and 


BERTIE’S NEW FRIEND. 


49 


thoiigli the look of unhappiness on the young 
face won Mrs. Morse’s tender pity, notwithstand- 
ing this scholar’s repelling manner, she could not 
gain the least response from the reserved girl. 

One Sunday Mrs. Morse asked for the street 
and number of each scholar’s residence, telling 
them that she hoped to call on each of them dur- 
ing the ensuing week. 

Lois’ very evident unwillingness to give her 
address was so marked that the girls looked at her 
in wonder, but Mrs. Morse did not appear to no- 
tice it. 

“ I should think she ’d be ashamed to act that 
way to Mrs. Morse — just as if she did n’t want her 
to come!” whispered Mattie indignantly; and she 
tried to atone for Lois’ rudeness by earnestly urg- 
ing Mrs. Morse to come after business hours, so 
that she would surely be at home. She cast a 
defiant glance at Florence and Nina as she spoke 
of her employment at the store, but her face lost 
every expression save that of pleasure when Mrs. 
Morse said kindly, 

“ I will come Wednesday evening about half- 
past six, if that time will suit you, Mattie, and 
then we can go to prayer-meeting together from 
your house.” 

Mattie joyfully assented to this plan, and read- 
ing the unspoken wish on the faces of her two 
4 


Mrs. Morse’s Girls. 


50 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


friends, she added, “May Etta and Nora come 
too and go with us?” 

“Yes; that will be a very nice plan,” an- 
swered Mrs. Morse cordially ; and Nina looked 
up with an expression which, unfortunately, was 
very easy to interpret. 

“Will Mrs. Morse really be seen with those 
awful girls in the street?” she thought in horri- 
fied surprise. “Why, I wouldn’t walk as far as 
the corner with such a common-looking set. I 
don’t see how she can bear to think of it. But 
then she ’s so good and sweet, I believe she would 
do anything to make even such girls as those hap- 
py;” and the expression of disdain softened into 
a look of loving admiration. 

There was one point of mutual sympathy al- 
ready between the girls she looked down upon 
and her own dainty self, namely, their affection 
for their teacher, but so far it had not drawn them 
nearer together. 

Mrs. Morse determined to visit Lois on Mon- 
day afternoon, and she hoped that possibly she 
might better understand this strange girl if she 
tried to make her acquaintance at her own home, 
where she would be more apt to be her natural 
self than in Sunday-school, among the girls to- 
wards whom she cherished such a dislike. 

She knew that Lois attended school, so she 


BERTIE’S NEW FRIEND. 


51 

deferred her visit till after school hours, that she 
might find her at home; but in this she was dis- 
appointed. 

Mrs. Cramer came to the door in response to 
her knock, and when she introduced herself and 
inquired for lyois, said that I^ois was taking her 
music lesson and would not be at home till six 
o’clock; but she so cordially urged Mrs. Morse to 
come in that she gladly consented, hoping to learn 
something of her pupil from kois’ mother. 

The frail little figure among the pillows in the 
great rocking-chair caught the visitor’s eye im- 
mediately, and she went towards Bertie with a 
smile that won him at once, shy though he usu- 
ally was with strangers. 

“Bertie, this is sister’s Sunday-school teach- 
er,” said his mother, and the child looked up with 
a bright smile of welcome. 

“Bois told me about you,” he said. “She 
said I would like you, and I do.” 

The innocent words brought a double pleasure 
to Mrs. Morse as she stooped to kiss the sweet 
upturned face. So Lois had not really been as 
unapproachable as she had seemed, and her icy 
indifference had been simulated in part at least, 
or she would not have told her little brother that 
he would like her teacher. 

The hour that passed away almost unheeded 


52 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


in its flight was a pleasant one to all, and Mrs. 
Morse felt that she was becoming acquainted with 
a very different Ivois from the silent, sullen girl 
who sat in her class every Sunday and repelled 
all her kindness so persistently. 

The mother spoke lovingly of Tois’ thought- 
fulness, her sunshiny ways, and the persistence 
with which she was trying to fit herself for a 
teacher, that she might lighten the cares which 
rested so heavily upon her mother’s shoulders. 

“She is perfectly devoted to Bertie, and I do 
not know how he would get along without her. 
He thinks her arms rest him even better than 
mine when he has pain, and he is hardly ever out 
of her arms when she is at home. I think she 
grieves far more because Bertie has to go without 
so many things that he needs than because she 
has to go without so many of the pleasures that 
most girls of her age enjoy. Her one thought is 
of Bertie.” 

“Sister’s so good to me,” sighed the child 
with a look of loving content as he heard Tois’ 
praises. 

“Don’t you love Tois too?” he asked pres- 
ently. 

“Indeed I do,” answered Mrs. Morse earnest- 
ly, for the affectionate interest which she felt for 
Lois simply as a member of her class warmed into 


BERTIE’S NEW FRIEND. 53 

love as she learned of the sorrow that had cloud- 
ed the young life and of her unselfishness and 
thoughtfulness at home. 

The unhappy expression, then, had not been 
the result of a sullen disposition, and Mrs. Morse 
was more fully determined than before to win 
Ivois’ friendship in spite of her reserve. 

“I think you could hold me like kois does,” 
went on Bertie, looking wistfully at Mrs. Morse. 

“Oh, Bertie dear, let mother hold you if you 
are tired of sitting still,” exclaimed Mrs. Cra- 
mer. 

But Mrs. Morse interposed. “ I should so like 
to hold him a little while, Mrs. Cramer, if you 
think I can make him comfortable;” and she was 
so evidently in earnest that Mrs. Cramer yielded. 

In a few moments Bertie was comfortably 
nestled in his new friend’s motherly arms ; and 
Mrs. Morse, looking down upon her light burden, 
so pitifully wasted and misshapen, marked the 
perfect fragile beauty of the little face and the 
depth of violet blue eyes with their golden-brown 
fringes. 

The mother sat by with a pleased expression 
while Mrs. Morse devoted herself to the child’s 
entertainment for a few minutes and amused 
him with some nursery tales that were new to 
him. 


54 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


A light step came swiftly up stairs, and Bertie 
sat upright, a radiant look of expectancy lighting 
his face. 

“ That ’s sister Lois!” he said joyfully. 

As the footsteps reached the last flight of stairs 
a little trilling song was heard, and in an instant 
the door was thrown open and Lois came in, her 
face so bright that Mrs. Morse scarcely recognised 
her. 

“Well, Bertie darling,” she began; then she 
saw that the little family were not alone, and, as 
swiftly as a curtain falls the bright look van- 
ished and the old defiant, sullen expression took 
its place. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Morse,” she said, so 
coldly that her mother glanced at her in pained 
surprise. 

“Aren’t you going to kiss me, sister?” que- 
ried Bertie in grieved tones as he lifted his face in 
vain for the usual caress. 

It was evident to Mrs. Morse that Lois was not 
pleased at seeing him in her arms; but as she 
stooped and gave him the kiss he asked for her 
manner to the child w^as as loving as it was cold 
to others. 

“What did you learn to sing to-day, Lois?” 
asked Bertie as his sister laid her music -roll 
on the piano and removed her hat and coat. 


BERTIE’S NEW ERIEND. 55 

‘‘Doesn’t she sing beautifully?” he went on, 
looking at Mrs. Morse. 

‘ ‘ I never heard her, dear, ’ ’ Mrs. Morse had to 
answer, though her response brought a look of 
surprise to the mother’s face. 

“Never heard my I/ois sing?” asked Bertie 
in surprise that was half pity. ‘ ‘ Do sing some- 
thing right now, wont you, sister, so she can hear 
you ?” 

Lois tried in vain to pacify the child without 
yielding to his entreaty, but his persistence over- 
came her reluctance, and seating herself at the 
piano, she struck a few chords and began to sing 
a simple childish song that Bertie loved. Mrs. 
Morse looked at the singer in wonder as the 
sweet, pure tones rang out, and she marvelled that 
Lois could be so chary of her gift and so unwilling 
to use it. 

Words of warm admiration involuntarily es- 
caped the visitor as the song ceased, but Lois 
heeded them not; she only looked at the childish 
face to meet the look of happiness that her song 
always brought there. 

Verily she was incomprehensible, and Mrs. 
Morse began to doubt her ability ever to reach 
this heart which seemed hidden behind a mask of 
ice. 

But the sun’s bright rays can thaw the most 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


56 

stubborn ice, and so Mrs. Morse determined that 
her love for Lois and her earnest desire to do her 
good should shine steadily upon her till her pride 
and reserve should melt away. 

Reluctantly she rose to go, placing Bertie ten- 
derly in his sister’s arms, and 'when she bent to 
kiss him farewell she imprinted a kiss on the girl- 
ish face above it. 

‘ ‘ Bertie and I are friends already, ’ ’ she said 
softly. “ I hope you will soon be friends with me 
too, Lois.” 

There was no response, and though Mrs. Morse 
fancied that for a moment a softer expression took 
the place of the defiant one, it vanished so swiftly 
that she could not be sure of it. 

There was no way to account for Lois’ appa- 
rently unreasonable dislike, and as her teacher 
walked swiftly homeward she determined not to 
be discouraged by it, even though it might be 
long weeks before she could win the perverse 
girl’s friendship. 


BERTIE’S GOOD TIMES. 


57 


CHAPTER VI. 

BERTIE’S GOOD TIMES. 

The door had scarcely closed behind Mrs. 
Morse before Eois’ mother turned towards her 
with a look of surprised reproof. 

‘ ‘ My dear Eois, what is the matter with you ? 
I should not wonder if Mrs. Morse never came 
here again, you were so ungracious and cold in 
your manner; and she was so pleasant, too, that 
you had not the least reason for being rude.” 

“I don’t think I was rude, mother,” an- 
swered Lois, bending over Bertie to hide her 
flushed cheeks. “ I did n’t intend to make a fuss 
over her, for I didn’t want her to come in the 
first place and she knew it, and I do n’ t want her 
to come again; so I do n’t mean to act as if I were 
glad to see her.” 

‘‘But why don’t you want her to come?” 
asked the mother in puzzled inquiry. “She is 
so friendly and took such an interest in Bertie — ” 

“ But I do n’t want her friendship nor any one 
else’s,” interrupted Lois, her eyes flashing. 
“Mother, don’t you know what friendship is 
worth? Didn’t we find out when father died 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


58 

how little our friends cared for us? Just as long 
as we had a lovely home, it was all right; but as 
soon as we had to sell everything and come and 
live in these little cramped-up rooms in this nar- 
row street, our friends all left us to do what we 
chose. I made up my mind then that I would 
never trust anybody again nor make new friends, 
and I mean to keep to my resolution. I hate ev- 
erybody in the world except you and. Bertie, and 
I don’t want anybody to like me.” And gently 
putting the amazed child down into his nest of 
pillows, this sixteen-year-old misanthrope went 
into her room and threw herself down on the bed 
to burst into a storm of passionate weeping. 

She would not listen to the words her mother 
would have uttered when she tried to show her 
how much they still had to be thankful for, even 
if riches and friends had failed them. Lois shook 
her head decisively. 

“No, mother, it’s no use for you to talk,” 
she said drearily. “You can’t make me believe 
that we ’ ve got anything to be thankful for. We 
are so poor that we can’t get enough even of the 
necessaries of life, not to say anything about the 
comforts. Poor darling little Bertie suffers ’most 
all the time, and there are so many things that he 
ought to have that he doesn’t; you know it your- 
self, and the only thing I have to look forward to 


BERTIE’S GOOD TIMES. 


59 


is the time when I can earn enough money to get 
him things, and that seems so far off that I can’t 
wait patiently. Don’t tell me to look on the 
bright side; there isn’t any; and there isn’t any 
use in making believe about it. And I don’t 
want strangers to come here and see everything 
and shudder at Bertie’s back;” and the girl’s 
convulsive sobs broke forth again. 

“But, dearest, Mrs. Morse was as loving and 
kind to Bertie as any one could be,” said her 
mother. “I really think he enjoyed her visit 
more than he has enjoyed anything for some 
time.” 

But this speech only added to Dois’ anger. 
“ I don’t want him to enjoy her visits,” she burst 
out passionately. ‘ ‘ I want to make him happy 
myself. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Cramer saw that nothing she could say 
would have any effect upon Lois in her present 
state of mind, so she left her to exhaust her anger 
in tears while she busied herself in making prep- 
arations for supper. 

Lois wept on, hot, bitter tears coursing like 
rain down her cheeks, till at last she heard Ber- 
tie’s voice calling her. 

“Sister, wont you come to Bertie?” he en- 
treated. “ Please come. ” 

Obedient to the summons she could not with- 


6o 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


Stand, though her ears might be deaf to all else, 
she called back, ‘‘In a minute, Bertie,” and 
hastily bathed her face and eyes and tried to sup- 
press the sobs which still shook her frame. 

Then, thankful for the gathering twilight that 
shadowed her face from the child’s eyes, she sat 
down on the floor before his chair, and laying her 
head in his lap let the little hands toy lovingly 
with her hair, now and then pressing one of them 
passionately to her lips. 

Such outbursts w*ere rare with Lois, and her 
softened, gentle manner through the rest of the 
evening showed that she was penitent for the 
hasty, rebellious words which she knew had 
grieved her mother. 

This first visit was only the forerunner of 
many which Mrs. Morse made, and Bertie soon 
learned to watch for her nearly as eagerly as he 
did for Lois. Mrs. Cramer, too, always had a 
warm welcome awaiting her new friend. 

Mrs. Morse never failed to bring some little 
gift to Bertie that she knew would delight the 
child. Sometimes it was a juicy orange or a 
tempting bunch of grapes, and again it would be 
some flowers as sweet and dainty as Bertie him- 
self. 

Three times a carriage had been placed at 
Mrs. Morse’s disposal, and then Bertie had en- 


BERTIE’S GOOD TIMES. 6l 

joyed the rare, almost unknown luxury of a drive 
through the park. 

Lois had brought herself to accept Mrs. 
Morse’s invitation to accompany them on these 
occasions; not that she cared foj the ride, but be- 
cause she wanted to watch her darling’s rapture, 
hard though it was for her jealous nature to see 
him revelling in a joy which it had not been hers 
to give him. She had held him in her arms, and 
he nestled closely to her, uttering little excla- 
mations of delight now and then as his happi- 
ness overflowed in words. A delicate pink flush 
had stained the cheeks that were beginning to 
grow so transparently white and waxen, and the 
languid eyes sparkled with childish pleasure. 

These rides were great events in little Bertie’s 
life, and he never grew tired of recalling what he 
had seen while he was in the carriage. 

One ride had been taken early in the spring, 
and the carriage had been stopped until a handful 
of fragrant blue violets were gathered for Bertie. 

Even Lois, cold and reserved as she still was 
in her manner towards Mrs. Morse, could not but 
feel grateful to her for the happiness she was the 
means of bringing into the child’s lonely, suffer- 
ing life. 

Lois would not admit even to herself the new 
fear which had taken possession of her as she 


62 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


noticed how much lighter her loved burden be- 
came and how thin and frail the little hands had 
grown. 

Suppose Bertie should be growing worse ? 
Suppose — but she would not think of such a 
thing. He should not die; surely he was not go- 
ing to be taken away from her when she loved 
him so dearly. No; she would soon begin to 
earn money and buy for him herself all the nice 
things that Mrs. Morse was sending him now, and 
more too, and then he would be strong and well. 
She would take him to the wisest and most skil- 
ful of physicians, and perhaps — -joyful possibili- 
ty! — the little crooked back might be straighten- 
ed and the wasted limbs restored. 

Lois could not hide from herself the fact that 
he was daily growing weaker and that his appe- 
tite was increasingly capricious and slender. He 
turned away from plain food, and not even Lois’ 
affectionate artifices could prevail on him to eat. 

Daily Mrs. Morse sent some delicacy to the 
child, who had found a warm place in her heart; 
for she could see, what Lois refused to believe, 
that the end of the little life of suffering was gent- 
ly coming and that the burden of pain would 
soon be lifted. 

Her pity for Lois grew apace as she found how 
persistently the young girl shut her eyes to the 


BERTIE’S GOOD TIMES. 63 

sorrow that overclouded the near horizon, and she 
knew the blow would fall heavily upon that lov- 
ing heart when the bereavement came. 

The mother, too, noted the change in Bertie 
with all the keenness of a mother’s eyes, and two 
or three times she tried to warn Tois that her 
treasure was slipping from her grasp, but Lois 
would not be warned. She could not, would not, 
see the truth. 


64 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE EIRST prayer-meeting. 

Mrs. Morse did not forget her promise to call 
on Mattie, and when she made her way to the 
house at the appointed time she found the family 
in state in the parlor waiting to receive her. 

That room had the air of having been recently 
put in order, as indeed it had, for Mattie had 
come home from work half an hour earlier than 
usual, and had made such a vigorous onslaught 
upon the chaos and confusion that prevailed that 
she had soon _ brought a tolerable semblance of 
order out of it. 

The children were dressed in their best after 
being hastily washed, much to their disgust, for 
they had learned to look upon a thorough ablu- 
tion with soap and water as a disaster of only 
weekly occurrence. 

Supper was hurriedly eaten and cleared away, 
and Mattie helped her mother to make a present- 
able toilet, while she urged her father to don his 
coat and let his evening pipe wait until the visitor 
had departed. 

Mattie was his prime favorite, so he yielded 


the: first prayer-meeting. 65 

with scarcely a grumble. Just as the last hair- 
pin on the mother’s head had been pushed into 
place and Mattie had stepped back to admire her 
handiwork Mrs. Morse’s knock was heard, and 
the young girl rushed so hastily to open the door 
that, much to her dismay, she upset Nan. That 
small person took this most inconvenient opportu- 
nity to raise a dismal wail, and Mattie had to take 
her up in her arms and soothe her before she 
could answer Mrs. Morse’s knock. 

She greeted her teacher with unfeigned de- 
light, and ushering her into the parlor brought up 
the family one at a time, beginning with the 
father, and introduced them. This was a some- 
what lengthy process, but at last it was over and 
they were all disposed in uncomfortable attitudes 
around the room, looking as if they were rather 
too shy to enjoy the visit much. 

Nan still clung to Mattie’s neck, from which 
safe refuge she peeped shyly at the stranger. Mrs. 
Morse found it quite a task to maintain the con- 
versation, for though the father and mother seemed 
pleased at her visit they answered her only in 
monosyllables, until at last she spoke of Mattie’s 
improvement in Sunday-school. Then both father 
and mother became conversational and began to 
talk about their favorite daughter. 

“Our Mattie’s a good girl, if I do say it 
5 


Mrs. 3Ior8e’8 Cl iris. 


66 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


as shouldn’t,” said her father; and the mother 
chimed in, 

“I couldn’t make out for a day without her, 
that I couldn’t, for she’s such a help to me with 
the children. They ’ 11 do anything for her, they ’ re 
so fond of her.” 

Mattie’s face glowed with rosy -red confusion as 
her praises were thus publicly sounded; and Nan, 
understanding that the conversation had turned 
upon sister Mattie, added her testimonial by pro- 
ceeding to hug her so vigorously that her arms 
had to be loosened that Mattie might breathe. 

“ I can easily believe that Mattie is not only a 
good daughter, but a loving, helpful sister, she is 
such an attentive and willing scholar in Sunday- 
school,” said Mrs. Morse; and Mattie’s blushes 
deepened at this commendation from her loved 
teacher. 

Etta and Nora came in presently and there 
were no more pauses in the conversation. Before 
many minutes it was time to start for prayer- 
meeting, a service which none of the girls had 
ever attended, and concerning which they were 
not a little curious. 

“Wont you comfe with us, Mr. Brown?” 
asked Mrs. Morse as Mattie went to put on her 
hat. 

“Oh, yes, father, do come!” chimed in Mat- 


THE FIRST PRAYER- MEETING. 6/ 

tie, delighted at his having received an invita- 
tion. 

And his wife added, ‘‘Yes, John, you’d best 
go. You ’re all dressed and ready to go, and it ’s 
been a good while since you ’ve been to meet- 
ing.” 

Thus urged Mr. Brown could not summon up 
courage to refuse, although a remembrance of his 
deferred pipe made him wish he knew how to 
politely and firmly decline. Still he was willing 
to make considerable sacrifice to please this lady 
who seemed to take such an interest in his Mattie, 
and he hid his reluctance and got his hat with 
apparent readiness. 

After the good-bys had been said and Mrs. 
Morse had delighted the mother by coaxing a kiss 
from pretty, pouting Nan, the church-goers passed 
out into the hall, and a short whispered consulta- 
tion took place between the girls, the result of 
which was that Etta and Nora, to their great de- 
light, had the coveted places on either side of 
Mrs. Morse, w^hile Mattie walked sedately behind 
with her father. 

It was quite an event to Mr. Brown to be on 
his way to church. As he walked along he tried 
to remember when he had last been within the 
walls of a church, but the effort was too much for 
his memory and he gave it up at last. 


68 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


It was quite a walk to the church, and they 
reached it just as the bell was sounding its last 
summons. 

Mr. Brown felt himself to be so much of a 
stranger that he half dreaded the attention he was 
afraid he would arouse; but no one appeared to 
notice the little party as they walked up the aisle, 
although some few whispered comments were 
made, and more than one wondered “who that 
was that Mrs. Morse had with her.” 

Mr. Brown was comfortably seated near enough 
to a gas jet to be able easily to read the print in 
the copy of Gospel Hymns that was placed in his 
hand, and Mattie sat beside him, her face bright 
with happiness. 

Mr. Morse had learned the secret of making a 
prayer-meeting interesting, and there was always 
some variety in the exercises that kept them from 
falling into the rut of a regular routine. 

To-night there was to be a service of song, and 
nothing could have pleased the strangers in the 
audience more. 

All remembrance of the foregone pipe vanished 
as Mr. Brown listened to the sweet, spirited sing- 
ing and heard Mattie’s voice ringing out beside 
him, “singing as good as any one,” he said to 
himself with a thrill of fatherly pride. 

There were two brief intervals of Scripture 


THE FIRST prayer-meeting. 69 

reading and prayer, and all the remainder of the 
hour was given to song. The tunes were familiar 
ones to most of the audience, and even those who 
rarely sang could not resist joining in the melody. 
The hour passed all too quickly, and Mr. Brown 
gave a start of surprise when the benediction was 
pronounced and the service was over. 

“Is it out already?” he asked, turning to 
Mattie. 

“Yes,” she answered as she saw the people 
leaving their seats. “Wasn’t it nice, though, 
father?” 

“Yes; I’d have been glad if it had lasted 
longer,” he said as he left his seat. “I don’t 
know when I have heard such singing. I wish 
your mother could have heard it too. You must 
bring her some time, for I suppose you’ll be 
coming again. How often do they have this, any- 
how ?’ ’ 

“Every Wednesday night, Mrs. Morse said,” 
answered Mattie. 

Mrs. Morse was waiting for them by the 
church door to introduce Mr. Brown to her hus- 
band and to inquire how he had liked the service; 
and he was more pleased than he showed by the 
cordial hand-clasp and warm invitation to come 
again that he received from the minister. 

“ There are certainly mighty nice folks in that 


MRS. morse’s GIRES. 


70 

church,” he said as he walked homeward with 
Mattie. ‘‘You would really think Mr. Morse 
cared whether I came again or not, he seemed so 
hearty “like; and he shook hands as if I had been 
a gentleman.” 

“Indeed they are nice,” answered Mattie en- 
thusiastically. ‘ ‘ Mr. Morse is as nice as Mrs. 
Morse, and that ’s saying a good deal, for I hon- 
estly believe she’s the nicest person that ever 
lived.” 

Mattie’s enthusiasm concerning her teacher 
was not destined to meet with any check from her 
father, for he had been so much pleased with her 
kind, pleasant manners that he was not disposed to 
do anything but concur in his daughter’s opinion. 

“Well, how did you like it?” asked the mo- 
ther as they reached home and found her vainly 
endeavoring to put Nan to sleep. 

“Oh, it was lovely!” cried Mattie. “You 
give Nan to me, mother, as soon as I get my 
things off, and father’ll tell you about it while I 
put her to sleep. ’ ’ 

A few minutes later she was rocking back- 
wards and forwards, singing the refrain of the 
hymns she had joined in that evening, while in 
the next room Mr. Brown between the whiffs of 
smoke gave his wife quite a detailed account of 
the evening’s service. 


THE FIRST prayer-meeting. 71 

Altogether it had been an evening to be re- 
membered in the Brown family, and Mrs. Morse 
would have felt well repaid for her long walk and 
"^visit if she had known what a new interest in 
“the school our Mattie belongs to” had been 
awakened in the hearts of the father and mother 
by her invitation to the prayer-meeting that even- 
ing and her evident interest in Mattie. As it 
was, she felt an additional affection for her warm- 
hearted, impulsive scholar, because she appeared 
in such a lovable light at home. 


72 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

VISITS. 

The next Wednesday evening Mrs. Morse 
called upon Etta, the girls eagerly promising to 
meet her there and accompany her again to pray- 
er-meeting. 

Mattie was greatly disappointed that her father 
would not go with her. 

“You liked it so much last time I should 
think you would want to go again, particularly 
when the minister himself invited you,” she said 
reproachfully. 

“Well, maybe I’ll go again soon,” he an- 
swered as he filled his pipe and prepared for his 
after-supper lounge and smoke. “You see, I 
a’ n’t washed and dressed, and it’s ’most too 
much work to go every Wednesday evening. I ’ll 
go now and again, but you mustn’t look for me 
to go always.” 

So Mattie reluctantly went without him, de- 
termined to use her utmost efforts the next Wed- 
nesday evening to get him dressed time. 

Etta was by no means rejoiced at the prospect 
of a call from her teacher. Suppose — and her 


VISITS. 


73 


heart beat faster at the thought — suppose her aunt 
should say something about her going to church 
Sunday evening, and her deception should be dis- 
covered! 

It had become quite systematic by this time, 
for she left the house without query or comment 
when the first bell was ringing, and returned just 
as the church-goers were filling the streets. 

If Aunt Martha should by any chance find 
out that she had been deceiving her all this 
time, what would she do? Etta trembled at the 
thought of her anger, for she could be very se- 
vere when she thought she had an occasion, and 
Etta knew that she certainly deserved blame in 
this matter. 

She did not mention Mrs. Morse’s intended 
visit to her aunt, for she clung to the hope that 
possibly her aunt might chance to be out, and the 
danger in that way be averted. Her hopes were 
doomed to disappointment, however, for directly 
after supper her aunt seated herself at the sewing- 
machine with a piece of work that Etta knew 
would occupy her for the entire evening. 

She hoped for a little time that something 
might happen to detain Mrs. Morse and keep her 
from coming, but that wish, too, was frustrated, 
for even while she was thinking of this Mrs. 
Morse made her appearance. 


74 


MRS. morse’s GIRES. 


Now the only resource was to watch the con- 
versation, and whenever it seemed to wander to- 
wards the dangerous channel to turn it as quickly 
as possible. 

It was anything but a pleasant call for Mrs. 
Morse, for Etta, who was always more or less shy 
and constrained in her aunt’s presence, became 
doubly embarrassed by her fear, and Miss Martha 
refused to be won even by Mrs. Morse’s pleasant 
manner and did not take any pains to hide her 
wish to return to her sewing as speedily as pos- 
sible. 

Finding that Miss Martha was impatient to 
have her take her leave, and that Etta was so 
constrained and apparently afraid of her aunt that 
the visit was no pleasure to her, Mrs. Morse made 
but a brief call, and Etta breathed freely when 
the door was safely closed behind her and no word 
had been spoken concerning her Sunday even- 
ings. 

Mattie and Nora were waiting for her by the 
outer door, and Etta’s constraint vanished when 
the little . party had started on their way to 
church. 

The girls enjoyed the prayer-meeting no less 
than the service of song on the preceding Wed- 
nesday evening, and Mattie brought a smile of 
approval to her teacher’s face by whispering. 


VISITS. 75 

“ I guess I ’ll come all the time after this. I 
did n’ t know how nice it was before. ’ ’ 

Mattie’s resolution meant that Etta and Nora 
would come to the same determination, for they 
always followed their chosen leader in good as 
well as mischief, and Mrs. Morse felt that a great 
point was already gained. 

She had much to rejoice over in her class. In 
many ways there had been great improvements, 
but she had not been able as yet to draw the dis- 
cordant elements into harmony, and the jealousy 
and dislike between the girls seemed as strong as 
ever. 

Then, too, though without exception they all 
studied their Sunday-school lessons diligently and 
intelligently, and seemed interested in their teach- 
er’s explanations, she conld not make them realize 
that they had a personal interest in the great 
truths which they met Sunday after Sunday to 
study. 

She was anxious to invite her class to her 
house to spend the evening, but under existing 
circumstances it would be likely only to ag- 
gravate the bitter feelings, instead of allaying 
them. 

The following Wednesday evening Mrs. Morse 
made her promised call upon Nora and was warm- 
ly received. 


76 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


The parlor was illuminated for the occasion 
by every available lamp, and the family had evi- 
dently made preparations for her reception. Even 
Tom, moved with unusual curiosity, had stayed 
at home to see the wonderful teacher whom Nora 
quoted so constantly, and he looked so well and 
behaved so much better than Nora had expected 
he would that she felt quite a thrill of sisterly 
pride when she introduced him to Mrs. Morse. 

Altogether it was a pleasant visit for all con- 
eerned, and Mrs. Morse determined to repeat it in 
the course of a few weeks. 

Her principal object in selecting this evening 
and hour for her visits to these orirls was to brine" 

<3 ^ 

them with her to the prayer-meeting, and if pos- 
sible to interest them in it, so that they would 
continue to come of their own aceord. 

These three girls were the most hopeful ele- 
ments of her class, surprised as the others would 
have been if they had known that such was Mrs. 
Morse’s opinion. Assuredly their home influences 
were not Christian, but they would not be half as 
hard to eombat as the influence that surrounded 
Nina and Florence in their beautiful homes; and 
the interest with which they received their teach- 
er’s visits, and their evident desire to respond to 
her kindly feeling, gave promise that these hearts 
might easily be reached by tact and love and that 


VISITS. 77 

a bountiful harvest might be gathered for the 
Master. 

Florence’s indifference and haughtiness seemed 
a well-nigh impassable barrier between her teach- 
er and herself, and Mrs. Morse well knew that her 
home training was only calculated to encourage 
her in this disposition. 

Nina’s impressible nature was influenced by 
the person nearest to her at the time, and though 
sometimes it seemed as if good seed had been 
sown, it had not root enough to spring up and 
bear fruit. 

For Fois’ love Mrs. Morse was content to wait 
patiently, trusting that she could not always resist 
her offered affection. 

Continually this teacher bore the needs of her 
class in the arms of her loving faith to the mercy- 
seat, and while all other means of doing the girls 
good were faithfully used, yet she knew that 
prayer was the most powerful lever by which to 
raise her burden. She believed that in the Mas- 
ter’s own time the harvest would come, so there 
was no room for discouragement in her heart. 

Outwardly the class was almost transformed, 
and Mr. Pearsall sometimes wondered by what 
magic Mrs. Morse had effected the change. The 
irregular attendance and tardy entrance were en- 
tirely things of the past; in place of the listless 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


7S 

yawning or idle talk, the lesson seemed to be all- 
absorbing in its interest, and on review Sundays 
there was rarely a question asked which did not 
elicit a prompt response from these girls. 

Mr. Pearsall felt relieved from the burden of 
a great responsibility, for hitherto this class had 
been the most unsatisfactory in the entire school. 


BERTIE GOES HOME. 


79 


CHAPTER IX. 

BERTIE GOES HOME. 

At last Lois could no longer blind her eyes to 
the truth. Bertie was dying. The doctor had not 
given them a word of hope; he had not even ut- 
tered the trite remark that “ while there was life 
there was hope,” for the little life was slowly but 
surely ebbing away. 

Lois gave up school, and her mother had no 
heart to say her nay as she saw the look of hope- 
less sorrow that rested like a heavy cloud upon 
the young face. Bertie’s love for her and the fond 
way in which he clung to her only seemed to 
make her pain at the thought of the coming 
separation keener, and she could not bear to put 
him out of her arms for an instant. She was self- 
ish in her sorrow, and forgot that her mother’s 
pain was as great as her own. She jealously 
claimed the privilege of attending to Bertie’s 
wants herself ; and the mother, willing to lay 
aside her own feelings if she could make Lois 
happier, let her have her way in this. 

“Poor child ! She will have sorrow enough 
soon,” thought the mother as she noted how com- 


So MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

pletely Lois seemed to be bound up in lier love for 
her brother. 

Bertie did not suffer much in these days, and 
he was passively happy and content to lie in Lois’ 
arms while she, with a voice as clear and sweet as 
if her heart were not nearly bursting with sorrow, 
sang to him all his favorite hymns and nursery 
songs or told him stories by the hour. 

He loved to be near the window and watch 
with dreamy eyes the topmost branches of a tall 
tree which nodded just outside and which was 
shaking out its new leaves as the fresh life of the 
spring crept up through its trunk. Little brown 
sparrows swung lightly on the swaying twigs and 
perched fearlessly on the window-sill to eat the 
crumbs which the tiny hands spread for them 
every day, and through the arabesque of the 
leaves and twigs glimmered the blue sky or sail- 
ing clouds. 

A small enough outlook it was, but Bertie 
never wearied of it, and would watch the sky till 
Lois, with a vague fear, would draw his attention 
to something else and banish, if she could, the 
wistful expression which looked almost unearthly. 

“Will my back be straight in heaven, Lois?” 
he asked one day, and the sister pressed him to 

her in an embrace that she would fain have made 
unending. 


BERTIE GOES HOME. 


8l 


‘‘Hush, hush, Bertie!” she entreated with a 
sob in her voice. “Don’t talk so; you hurt sis- 
ter, What makes you think about heaven?” 

“I think I am going soon,” answered Bertie. 
“You mustn’t feel so bad, Lois. Don’t cry, 
please!” and the little soft hand wiped away the 
springing tears. 

“You are happy here, aren’t you, darling?” 
she asked. “ You do n’t want to go away ?” 

“I don’t want to leave you and mother,” he 
answered thoughtfully, “but, sister, I am so tired 
sometimes, and it is so hard to lie still all the time 
and never be able to run around. I used to think 
I would be lonesome in heaven until you and 
mother came, till Mrs. Morse gave me that pic- 
ture,” and his eyes turned towards an engraving 
of a shepherd bearing a lamb in his bosom which 
hung upon the wall. 

“That makes me want to go to heaven, for 
Mrs. Morse said Jesus carried the little children in 
his arms just the way that kind man is carrying 
the poor little lamb, and that would be so nice. 
Then my back wouldn’t hurt any more, and 
maybe it will be all strong and well. Why, sis- 
ter, I should think you would be glad I was go- 
ing!” and he looked up into her face with trustful 
eyes in which there was no shadow of fear. 

Of all that we instinctively shrink from in the 
6 


Mrs. Morau’s Girls, 


82 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


thought of death Bertie knew absolutely nothing, 
and for him death had no terrors. His childish 
eyes had never looked upon the empty casket 
from which the soul had fled, and he had never 
seen a coffin committed to the earth. Death to 
him only meant going to heaven to live with 
Jesus, and he could talk of it as calmly as if the 
valley of the shadow of death did not lie between. 

Each innocent word wrung hois’ heart with 
pain, and she exclaimed, “Darling, do you want 
to break sister’s heart! I could not live without 
my darling Bertie to love and take care of! 
Would n’t you rather have the pain and stay here 
with sister when she loves you so?” 

A look of perplexity rested on the childish 
face for an instant as he looked at Lois; then he 
answered, “Yes, my Lois; I’ll stay with you if 
you want me so; but if it was n’t for that, I would 
rather not. ’ ’ 

No one had told him that his growing weak- 
ness meant the gradual sundering of the ties 
which bound him to life, but by some intuition 
he seemed to realize it, and the mother, knowing 
how heavy the burden of suffering was for the 
childish strength to bear, and seeing how gladly 
he looked forward to a release, strove to bring her 
aching heart into submission to the divine will. 
Like all mothers, she had given her tenderest de- 


BERTIK GOES HOME. 83 

votion to the child whose helplessness had made 
him a constant care, and the thought of giving 
him up was hard indeed. 

Mrs. Morse came daily now to see Bertie, for 
her warmest sympathy was enlisted in behalf of 
the sorrowing family. 

Ivois would not listen to a word of comfort or 
of sympathy, and Mrs. Morse’s heart ached for 
her as she noticed the pain expressed in the pale 
face and the grief she forced herself to conceal 
lest it should trouble Bertie. She was afraid the 
young girl’s strength would break down under 
the strain imposed upon it, and she urged her to 
take a little rest and change. 

But Ivois was deaf to both Mrs. Morse’s and 
her mother’s entreaties. She would not leave 
Bertie for a moment, and the mere suggestion- of 
going out for a little exercise pained her so that 
at last her mother forbore to say anything about 
it. 

Friends came to the little family in this hour 
of trouble. Kindly offers of help in nursing were 
made, which Lois would have almost fiercely re- 
fused if her mother had not answered the messen- 
gers herself. 

Fruit, flowers, every little delicacy that could 
strengthen the child or coax back his appetite, 
were sent in profusion, with messages of sympathy 


84 MRS. morse’s girls. 

which were grateful to the stricken mother; but 
Lois would hear none of them. 

There was something strangely unchildlike in 
her defiant determination to bear her trouble 
alone, and her most repelling manner could not 
lessen Mrs. Morse’s loving pity for her. 

Her schoolmates knew the reason why Lois’ 
desk was so long vacant, and some of them stopped 
each day with kindly inquiries ; and her class- 
mates at Sunday-school forgot their dislike when 
Mrs. Morse told them of the great sorrow which 
was overshadowing their companion. They all 
remembered the child’s beautiful face and the 
misshapen form which had shocked them when 
Lois had brought him to Sunday-school so long 
ago, and the young hearts were full of pity. 

* “Poor Lois!” said Mattie to herself as she 
caught up baby Nan on her return from Sunday- 
school and hugged her so vigorously that Nan re- 
sented the embrace by kicking and screaming. 
“ Nan, what would I do without you?” she asked 
with a warm burst of sympathy for her classmate 
as she thought how her own heart would ache if 
the little pattering feet were stilled and the baby 
voice hushed. 


KSTK AN G E M K N T. 


85 


CHAPTER X. 

ESTRANGEMENT. 

“ Mamma, I want to go and see Lois Cramer,” 
announced Nina at the supper-table one Sunday 
evening. 

“Why, Nina, what do you want to go there 
for ?’ ’ was the surprised query. 

“ Mrs. Morse told us to-day that her little lame 
brother is dying, and I want to go and tell her 
how sorry I am. Perhaps there is something she 
would like for him,” answered Nina. 

“My dear child, I couldn’t think of letting 
you do such a thing,” was the energetic response. 
“Just as likely as not the child has some low 
fever or something that you would probably take 
yourself if you went there. If you think they are 
in want I have no objection to your sending them 
a basket of groceries. ’ ’ 

Nina burst into a merry peal of laughter. 
“Excuse me, mamma, but it’s so funny to im- 
agine Lois’ face if I did such a thing as that. I 
know they ’re not well off, for Lois always dresses 
very plainly and wears her clothes for ever; but 
she ’s just as proud as I am, and I fancy she would 


86 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


rather starve than have food given her. Do let 
me go and see her, mamma; I am sure there isn’t 
any danger of contagion, for Mrs. Morse goes 
every day.” 

“That’s a very different thing,” answered 
her mother. “It’s the business of a minister’s 
wife to visit sick people, whether there is any 
contagion or not, but I couldn’t think of let- 
ting you go. Now remember, Nina, I positively 
forbid it.” 

Nina persisted and pleaded in vain, for her 
mother was firm Jn her refusal; so at last she 
yielded, though with no good grace. She carried 
out her kindly impulse in another way, however, 
for early the next morning she persuaded her 
father to fill her purse, and bought a basket of 
luscious strawberries, costly luxuries so early in 
the season, and a bunch of fragrant violets. 
These she sent with a gracefully worded note of 
sympathy to Lois, wondering not a little how the 
shy, reserved girl would accept her offering. 

When Bertie’s eyes brightened at the sight 
of the beautiful fruit and he ate eagerly of it, 
one hand contentedly clasping his violets mean- 
while, Lois’ heart softened towards Nina and 
she thought half remorsefully how often she had 
mentally pronounced her frivolous and heartless. 

Florence refused to join in the general feeling 


ESTRANGEMENT. 


87 

of sympathy^ and when Nina began to speak 
about Ivois she snubbed her so mercilessly that 
even the gentle-spirited Nina grew indignant. 

“Really, Nina, I am not at all interested in 
that child,” she remarked loftily. “I wish you 
could find something more entertaining to talk 
about. It must be very unpleasant to be as im- 
pressionable as you are.” 

“Well, it must be a great deal more unpleas- 
ant to be as selfish and hard-hearted as you are,” 
Nina retorted. “I do n’t believe you ever think 
about anybody besides yourself, Florence Esta- 
brook. If you are comfortable, you don’t care 
how anybody else may suffer.” 

“ Certainly not; why should I?” answered 
Florence calmly. “There is a great deal of suf- 
fering, both real and imaginary, in the world, and 
it would be very foolish to spend one’s time 
mourning over it.” 

“There is a great deal of difference between 
that and being sorry for a friend in trouble,” said 
Nina hotly, feeling that Florence could easily get 
the better of her in reasoning although her heart 
told her that it was right to sympathize with 
others’ sorrow. 

“Ah, then you consider Lois a friend of 
yours, do you?” inquired Florence with exasper- 
ating calmness. “ She is decidedly out of my set 


88 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


of acquaintance and I should have imagined of 
yours too, but perhaps you are not very fastidious 
in your choice of friends.” 

Nina was very angry and a bright wave of 
color flushed her fair face. ‘ ‘ I certainly would n’ t 
be foolish enough to care so much about you if I 
was particular about whom I chose for my friend!” 
she cried. “You are a perfect iceberg, and I 
don’t care if I never speak to you again.” 

“Thank you,” answered Florence with frigid 
politeness. “After that remark I do not think 
you will ever have a chance to speak to me again, 
unless to apologize for your rudeness;” and she 
turned and walked away, leaving Nina to go 
home alone. 

Nina was too loyal to her friend to speak of 
their disagreement to her father and mother, 
though long before she reached home she had be- 
gun to regret her hasty words and the estrange- 
ment they had wrought. 

She laughed and talked as merrily as usual 
that she might avoid questioning, and later, when 
some visitors came in, she entertained them with 
music by her father’s wish; but underneath all 
her good spirits was the anxious wonder whether 
Florence would be friends with her asfain. 

When Nina loved any one it was with a whole- 
hearted affection, and she was unhappy when she 


estrangement. 89 

had offended a friend until she had made repara- 
tion and obtained forgiveness. 

She tried to assure herself for a day or two 
that Florence’s words had been unkind and de- 
served a rebuke and that there was no need for 
her to apologize; but by Tuesday night her long- 
ing to be reconciled with her friend was so great 
that she cried herself to sleep. Florence’s offence 
was entirely forgotten and Nina could only recall 
her own angry speeches and wonder sadly wheth- 
er her friend would ever forgive her. She deter- 
mined to go to Florence as soon as possible the 
next morning, and somewhat comforted by this 
resolution, she fell asleep with the tears still glis- 
tening on her cheeks. 

It was very rarely that Nina Maynard ever 
had cause to shed tears, and the next morning 
her eyes were heavy and dark-rimmed and her 
head ached. 

Her mother’s anxiety was aroused at once, and 
if Nina had consented she would have summoned 
a doctor. 

“A little fresh air will make me all right,” 
insisted Nina. “ I am going around to see Flor- 
ence for a little while, for I have n’t seen her since 
Sunday afternoon, and 3^011 will see that I’ll be 
all right by the time I come back.” 

“Perhaps that will do you good, darling,” 


90 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


said her mother hopefully as she noticed Nina’s 
unusual pallor, and she determined that if she 
was not her own bright self by dinner-time, the 
doctor should surely.be summoned. 

With swift feet Nina hastened to her friend’s 
house and was ushered into the parlor. 

“Will you tell Miss Florence I wish to see 
her ?’ ’ she said to the maid. 

“Miss Florence is just finishing her break- 
fast, ’ ’ answered the girl ; ‘ ‘ please take a seat for 
a little while and I ’ll tell her.” 

Nina sank into the depths of a luxurious vel- 
vet chair, listening eagerly for Florence’s footstep 
in the hall. Of course she would know why 
Nina had come and would come in at once to re- 
ceive her apology. 

The minutes passed away and Nina wondered 
how Florence could delay so long. Surely the 
break in their friendship must have grieved her 
too. If Florence had come to her, how she would 
have flown to meet her and hushed her apology 
before it was uttered. 

After what seemed a long delay to the impa- 
tient girl the maid appeared in the door and said, 

“ Miss Florence’s regrets, but she ’s very much 
engaged this morning; would you please to ex- 
cuse her?” 

The hot blood rushed to Nina’s face. Was it 


ESTRANGEMENT. 


91 


possible that Florence really meant to refuse to 
see her? Her first impulse was to turn proudly 
away with the resolve never to make the first ad- 
vance again, but her love for Florence checked 
this impulse. 

“Oh, Annette, tell her I must see her!” she 
exclaimed. “Tell her I wont keep her but a mo- 
ment if she is busy, but I really must see her.” 

The girl went up stairs, and Nina, with a beat- 
ing heart, listened to Florence’s light footsteps 
leisurely descending the stairs. She must be 
very angry or she would not have refused to see 
her. 

Pretty enough to disarm anyone’s anger Nina 
looked as she stood before the door, her slender 
white fingers nervously clasping and unclasping 
and a look of penitence ahd sorrow on the usually 
bright face. 

She looked eagerly into Florence’s face as the 
latter entered the room to see whether there were 
any signs of relenting there. A look of cold an- 
noyance was the only expression on the face of 
her friend and she did not speak to the culprit, 
but waited silently for her to speak. 

Nina attempted a few polite words of regret, 
but in a moment her voice faltered, and throwing 
herself upon Florence’s neck she sobbed, “ Wont 
you forgive me, Florence? I ’m so sorry. If you 


92 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


only knew how sorry I have been for saying all 
those ugly, wicked things to you!” 

Impulse was so utterly foreign to Florence’s 
nature that even Nina’s outburst of sorrow and 
penitence did not move her out of her usual un- 
ruffled calm. She had been very angry at Nina 
for speaking so plainly and forgetting to show her 
the consideration which she was used to receiving 
from her companions, and she had intended to 
make her feel the full weight of her displeasure. 

Instead of returning Nina’s caresses, she with- 
drew herself from the clinging arms, saying quiet- 
ly, ‘‘I am quite ready to receive your apology, 
Nina, and I am glad you see the need there is for 
it. You certainly forgot yourself when you spoke 
in that way to any one you profess to have a 
friendship for. Pray do n’t make a scene, Nina,” 
she added in an annoyed tone as the poor child, 
feeling herself repulsed and unforgiven, burst into' 
renewed tears. ‘ ‘ There is no necessity for any- 
thing of the kind. I accept your apology. What 
more do you want me to say?” 

She seated herself on the sofa and calmly wait- 
ed for Nina to speak, inwardly triumphing at her 
friend’s penitence. 

“ Oh, Florence, I want you to say you forgive 
me and love me again,” cried Nina, throwing 
herself down beside her friend and burying her 


ESTRANGEMENT. 


93 

face ill her lap. “Don’t speak to me in that 
cold way. Can’t you be kind to me when I tell 
you how sorry I am ?” 

It was some time before Florence would relax 
her air of dignified displeasure, but at last, when 
she was satisfied that Nina was thoroughly hum- 
bled and that her wretchedness was commensurate 
with her offence, she condescended to comfort 
her. 

She could not understand Nina’s love being so 
great that she would lay her pride entirely aside 
and plead so humbly for pardon, for Florence 
knew that she herself would never stoop to con- 
fess herself in the wrong ; but it pleased her to 
think that she had gained such a complete ascen- 
dency over her friend. If it had been possible to 
touch her heart, selfish as it was, surely the sight 
of the pretty, grieved face and the quivering lips 
would have prompted her to some loving impulse; 
but she looked on the tears complacently, grati- 
fied that Nina appreciated the enormity of her of- 
fence in having rebelled against her opinion. 

“You don’t love me, Florence; you can’t 
care for me as I do for you, or you would treat me 
differently,” complained Nina. 

‘ ‘ Probably I would tell you I never wanted to 
see you again if I cared for you as you care for 
me,” remarked Florence. 


94 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


“Please don’t think of those words again, 
Florence,” entreated Nina. “You are right. 
You have never been as unkind to me as I have 
been to you;” and the tears started again. 

Florence was satisfied with her triumph at 
last and weary of her friend’s weeping; so she put 
her arm about Nina and drew her head down up- 
on her shoulder, a rare caress for the undemon- 
strative Florence. 

“Now, my dear, if you expect me to believe 
that you care about me as you say you do, stop 
crying and be sensible. Your eyes are all swollen 
and you wont be fit to be seen for hours.” 

“My head aches so, too,” said Nina, drawing 
a long breath that was half a sigh and half a sob. 

“Come up to my room and lie down a little 
while; then you will feel better;” and Florence 
led the way to her room. 

She made Nina bathe her flushed face in cool 
water, then placed a pillow for her on the divan 
and insisted upon her resting for a time. 

A certain sense of compunction touched her 
as she saw how grateful Nina was for these proofs 
of forgiveness and restored favor, and moved to 
unusual kindliness she drew a low rocking-chair 
to the side of the divan and bathed Nina’s throb- 
bing head with cologne. 

“Kiss me once more and I will be happy 


ESTRANGEMENT. 


95 


again,” entreated Nina; and she clung to her 
friend unrebuked in a long embrace that satisfied 
her loving heart. 

Florence was her ideal, the object of her 
warmest love, and she was so happy at being 
reconciled with her again that she mentally re- 
solved never, never again to utter an opinion con- 
trary to that of her friend, no matter how great 
might be the temptation. Suppose Florence had 
refused to be friends with her again! — and the 
blue eyes grew misty once more at the thought. 

As for Florence, her calm equanimity would 
have been in no wise disturbed if she had never 
regained her friend. She had been the object 
of other school-girl passions, and though they 
gratified her pride, they never won any response; 
so a separation that would have made Nina 
wretched would have been of little moment to 
Florence, except that she would have missed one 
of her circle of admirers. 


96 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


CHAPTER XI. 

“he share carry the EAMBS in HIS BOSOM.” 

Every visit that Mrs. Morse paid to Bertie 
she was fearful would be the last, for so slight a 
cord bound him to the earth, and one Saturday 
afternoon when she entered the room she was 
scarcely surprised to see the change on his face 
which showed that his hours were numbered. 

A sorrowful group it was that she looked up- 
on, and swift tears of sympathy filled her eyes. 

Eois, as usual, sat in the chair by the window 
holding the dying child, while the mother sat be- 
side her children with one little waxen hand 
clasped in her own. 

Bertie’s eyes were resting not on the sky, but 
on his sister’s face, now and then turning, with a 
faint effort at a smile, to his mother. The breath 
fluttered very feebly through the parted lips, and 
already his cheeks seemed to have taken on the 
waxen transparency of death. 

There was no need to ask how he was, and 
Mrs. Morse stooped silently and kissed the child, 
turning aside her head that he might not see the 
tears that his look of loving recognition brought. 


CARE FOR THE FAMES. 


97 


So peaceful was the beautiful face and so unut- 
terably content, that mother and sister forced 
themselves to hide their grief lest it should dis- 
turb their darling. 

“Will you stay with us? It will not be long,” 
said the mother, drawing a chair forward; and her 
quivering lips told of her anguish as the last mo- 
ments of this precious little life were slipping 
away like the sands in an hour-glass. 

For some time no word was spoken; then 
Bertie’s lips moved and Lois bent over him to 
catch the faltering words. 

“My — Lois,” the baby pet name which he 
had never dropped and which Lois always loved 
to hear — “ My Lois — sing — green pastures.” 

And the sister, knowing what he wanted, sang 
the hymn he loved best: 

“ In the green pastures, by the still waters.” 

Her voice never faltered, though her lips grew 
white with the effort she was making to control 
the pain which she thought must force itself from 
her in a cry. 

The blue eyes rested on her face while she 
sang; then, even while the last words lingered on 
her lips, a little shiver ran through the slight fig- 
ure in her arms, and with one little fluttering 
gasp the life of suffering ended and the eternal 
life began. 


Mrs. Morse’s Girls. 


7 


98 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

It was the mother who shed bitter tears over 
the little form; but I^ois sat rigid and erect, with- 
out a tear or sob to show her grief, refusing to 
loosen her clasp or let the child be taken from 
her. 

A passionate outburst of grief would have 
been more natural in one so young, and this apa- 
thy alarmed Mrs. Morse. 

Ivois did not hear anything that was said to 
her; she did not heed Mrs. Morse’s loving touch; 
but her eyes rested on the dear little face with a 
look of love and longing that was pitiful to see. 

Mrs. Morse remained until she had performed 
all the kindly offices she could for the stricken 
family. Then, when the twilight was deepening, 
she took her leave, just as a neighbor came in 
with offers of assistance in any way in which her 
help might be needed. 

“How is Lois’ little brother, Mrs. Morse?” 
was Mattie’s first inquiry the next day when she 
entered Sunday-school, and the bright black eyes 
grew dim with tears at the thought of the sorrow 
of her classmate. 

Nina, too, felt her heart swell with sympathy, 
but remembering the unhappy consequences that 
had attended her expression of pity the Sunday 
before, she forbore to mention the subject during 
her homeward walk with Florence. 


CARE FOR THE FAMES. 


99 

“ Girls, I ’m awfully sorry for poor Lois,” said 
Mattie to Etta and Norl as the trio left Sunday- 
school together. 

“So am I!” chimed in both girls simulta- 
neously. 

“I’d like to do something to show her how 
sorry I am,” Mattie went on. “Don’t you think 
it would be nice if we three put our money to- 
gether and bought some pretty flowers to send for 
the funeral?” 

This plan met with unanimous approval, and 
the next day the girls appropriated their brief 
lunch-time to a hasty visit at a neighboring flor- 
ist’s, where, after some discussion, they decided 
upon a crown of white flowers. 

“Make it just as pretty as you can, please,” 
said Mattie as she handed over the pieces of silver 
which represented not a little self-denial on the 
part of the givers. In their desire to show their 
sympathy they had each contributed generously 
to their joint offering, and the box of creamy 
white rosebuds that Nina sent did not represent a 
tenth of the self-denial which the other gift had 
cost. 

Mr. and Mrs. Morse both called frequently 
during the long dark days that intervened before 
the funeral, and other friends showed the little 
family every possible kindness ; but there are 


lOO 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


some clouds so dark and heavy that even sympa- 
thy cannot lighten them much, and though Mrs. 
Cramer appreciated the kindness that was shown 
her, still the darkness of those first days seemed 
almost unendurable. Lois had not shed a tear, 
but was still in the state of apathetic grief which 
had alarmed Mrs. Morse. 

She would not see any one who came in, but 
locked herself in her room, refusing admittance 
to every one; then when the strangers were gone 
she would go back to her post beside the little 
coffin. 

“She has not eaten nor slept since Bertie 
died,” her mother said tearfully, her anxiety con- 
cerning the child that was spared to her distract- 
ing her in a small measure from her grief at the 
loss of the other. ‘ ‘ I cannot do anything with 
her, Mrs. Morse; she will not listen to me, poor 
child. She is nearly beside herself with grief, I 
know, and yet she will not give it any expression. 
Wont you go in and talk to her? If 3^ou could 
only bring the tears, I think it would be a great 
relief to her, for she will break down under this 
strain unless there is some reaction. You will 
not mind if she does not seem to welcome you?” 
Mrs. Cramer, remembering Lois’ invariable cold- 
ness, added half entreatingly as Mrs. Morse moved 
towards the bedroom door. 


CARE FOR THE LAMBS. 


lOI 


Mrs. Morse reassured her and quietly opened 
the door and entered the room where I^ois was 
extended upon the bed, her face buried in the pil- 
low and a soft golden curl tightly clasped in her 
hand. A picture of despair she was indeed, and 
her whole attitude spoke of her hopeless sorrow. 
What words would bring comfort to this bereaved 
heart, Mrs. Morse wondered as she seated herself 
beside her and rested a hand with loving pressure 
on the dark hair. 

“Lois dear,” she said gently, as the girl did 
not notice her presence. 

With a gesture of impatience Lois looked up, 
pushing back her hair from her forehead. Her 
face was set and rigid and her eyes burned with 
unnatural brilliancy. This tearless grief was sad- 
der to look upon than any abandonment of tears 
could have been. 

“What do you want?” she asked coldly. 

“I want to comfort you, dear, if I can,” Mrs. 
Morse said gently. 

“Comfort!” Lois echoed the word with a 
harsh, strained laugh. “Comfort I There is no 
comfort for me. Can you give me back Bertie ? 
That is all that can comfort me. I cannot live 
without him, and it is too cruel that he should be 
taken away from me. He was all that I had to 
make me happy, and I have studied and worked 


102 MRS. MORSE’S GIRRS. 

for SO many years so that I might take care of him, 
and now when the time was almost come he must 
be taken away. Poor little Bertie! he never knew 
all I meant to do for him.” 

“Lois, try to forget your loneliness, and re- 
member how happy he must be at being freed 
from his burden of suffering. Even you, with all 
your love, could not lighten that,” said Mrs. 
Morse, wishing she could strike some chord that 
would vibrate responsively in this desolate heart. 

But Lois only shook her head. ‘ ‘ He was hap- 
py here, though, if he did suffer, and I could have 
made him so happy that he would not have mind- 
ed his lameness and pain. It was cruel and unjust 
to take him away from me. You need not tell 
me it is wicked to say that,” she went on defiant- 
ly. “I don’t care if it is ; I will say it. It was 
cruel to make innocent little Bertie suffer as he 
did. If God can prevent such things, why did n’t 
he make him strong and well like other children? 
When He saw how I loved him, why didn’t He 
let me keep him ? I had not much to make me 
happy, and now everything is taken away from 
me. I want to die too, for I cannot live without 
Bertie. I thought about him all the time I was 
studying and practising, and all I looked forward 
to was working for him. No; there is no com- 
fort for me now I have lost Bertie. ’ ’ 


COMFORT. 


103 


CHAPTER XII. 

COMFORT. 

A SWIFT prayer for wisdom to choose her words 
aright went up from the depths of Mrs. Morse’s 
heart. This was no time to reprove the heart- 
broken girl for her rebellious words ; she must 
rather lead her to look upon her trouble in a dif- 
ferent light. 

“Eois, I know it will be hard for you to be- 
lieve what I am going to say now while your loss 
seems so hard to bear, but it is true, and has com- 
forted me many a time when I could not see any 
other ray of light in my darkness. It is in infi- 
nite love and wisdom that God sends us these 
great troubles.” 

“Don’t talk to me that way,” answered Eois 
in the harsh, strained voice which showed the 
unnatural tension of her nerves. “You have 
never had any trouble like mine, or you could 
not say such things.” 

“Dear child,” answered Mrs. Morse after a 
moment’s pause, “let me tell you something of 
my sorrows, and you will not say that. I know 
that each heart thinks its own burden is the heav- 


104 morse’s girls. 

iest, but my cause for mourning was no light one. 
I had three dear little ones, and my love for them 
seemed to fill all my life. In one short week God 
took them all from me and my home was left 
empty and desolate. Only my faith that God had 
ordered this trial in love kept me from sinking 
under my burden. Dear, I know just how lonely 
and desolate your heart is, for I have been be- 
reaved too, and I want to share with you the com- 
fort that sustained me in those dark hours. I do 
not think of my treasures as being buried beneath 
the three little mounds in the cemetery ; that 
would be too hard to bear; but I remember that 
Jesus carries the lambs in his bosom, and I think 
of them as being there in that safe refuge. Dois, 
I cannot tell you how I loved my little ones; only 
a mother knows the depth of a mother’s love; but 
though my heart is yet sore with the longing to 
hear the sweet baby voices again, I would not call 
them back to this world of suffering if I could. 
Dearest, you would not call darling little Bertie 
back again to suffer, would you ? He wanted to 
go. Much as he loved you and loved his mother, 
he wanted to be with Jesus. He left a message 
with me for you. Shall I tell it to you now?” 

“Yes,” was the smothered response. 

“He said, ‘When I go away, I want you to 
tell Lois not to be sorry for me. Tell her I shall 


COMFORT. 


105 

love her all the time just as if I was here ; and 
when she looks at my picture she must think that 
Jesus is carrying me in his arms just the way the 
kind shepherd is carrying the little lamb. Don’t 
let Dois be sorry,’ he repeated again, and he left 
to me the task of comforting you. I loved little 
Bertie dearly, and I love you too, Lois, though I 
think you have not liked me. For Bertie’s sake 
will you not let me comfort you and be your 
friend ?’ ’ 

The voice was very tender and loving, and the 
motherly arms drew Lois to her in a close em- 
brace which the girl did not resist. 

For a few moments there was silence. Then 
convulsive sobs shook the slight figure from head 
to foot as the long pent-up grief found expression, 
and the tears fell in a refreshing rain, relieving 
the burning, overwrought brain. 

Mrs. Morse did not seek to check the violence 
of the girl’s grief, only held her more closely to 
her and with loving touch caressed her. Her 
heart ached as the sight of this bitter sorrow re- 
opened the scarcely healed wounds of her own 
loss, and she silently prayed that God would send 
comfort as he only could to the mourning family. 

“Don’t let Lois be sorry.” 

The sister could almost hear the words in the 
sweet voice that was so silent now, and this token 


I06 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

of the little brother’s loving care for her pierced 
through the dull apathy of despairing grief and 
opened the fount of tears. 

“O Bertie, Bertie!” she sobbed. “How can 
I live without him ?” and the thought brought a 
fresh outburst of grief. 

‘ ‘ Bertie loved you too, ’ ’ she said after a while, 
when her emotions had exhausted themselves and 
she lay quiet and worn out with the violence of 
her tears, with her head pillowed on Mrs. Morse’s 
shoulder. “I am ashamed to tell you, but it 
made me angry to know that he cared about any 
one but me; and I could not bear to think that 
you could give him things that pleased him when 
I wanted to so and could n’ t. I was glad to have 
him happy, yet I hated to know that it was some 
one else that made him so. You don’t know 
how I loved him !” and her lips quivered. 

“Your love made him very happy, I know,” 
answered Mrs. Morse; “ and, I^ois dear, think how 
much more miserable you would be if you had to 
look back upon selfish acts or unkind words. He 
never knew anything but love from you, and you 
must let that comfort you. You did all you could 
to make his life a happy one while he was here 
with you. And now you have your mother to 
comfort and care for. I am afraid you have for- 
gotten her in your own sorrow. Not the fondest 


COMFORT. 


107 

love of a sister can exceed a mother’s love, and 
yonr mother needs all the love and sympathy you 
can show her just now. You have been so ab- 
sorbed in your grief that it has left her to bear 
hers all alone, and made it doubly hard for her. 
Can’t you be brave enough to lay your own grief 
aside, dear, and comfort her? I know you can 
do it if yon will, for I know how bravely you kept 
back the tears when they might have grieved Ber- 
tie. Wont you make the effort again ?” 

She had struck the right chord at last. Lois 
could be strong and unselfish when she realized , 
another’s need of her. 

‘‘ Poor mother! I forgot her,” she said thought- 
fully. “ How selfish I have been ! I was so mis- 
erable myself that I did not remember how lonely 
she must be too; and she is such a dear, good mo- 
ther that she never once reproached me with it. 
Thank you for reminding me, Mrs. Morse.” 

She rose from the bed, and pressing the soft 
lock of hair tenderly to her lips laid it down, 
while she bathed her burning face and brushed 
her hair. 

Then she turned back to Mrs. Morse, quiet 
and composed now, though the sorrow in the pal- 
lid face and dark-ringed eyes was eloquent. Kneel- 
ing beside her friend, “I must say something to 
you,” she began, and paused. 


I08 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

Mrs. Morse anticipated her words. “If it is 
anything about the past, dear, you need not say 
it. We will begin anew to-day. I was willing to 
wait until you understood me.” 

“No, I must say it, though you are so good,” 
answered lyois gratefully. “I do n’ t want to 
make excuses for having been so ugly to you 
when you have always been kindness itself to me; 
but I want to tell you it was partly because I was 
so unhappy that I was so determined not to be 
friends with you. When father died so many of 
our friends gave us up that it made me feel as if 
I hated all the world and would never trust any 
one again; and the kinder you were to me the 
more I determined not to yield. I have not de- 
served your kindness this morning, after all my 
hatefulness; but if you will forgive me—” and 
she looked up pleadingly. 

“ Dear Dois, I do not feel that I have anything 
to forgive,” answered Mrs. Morse lovingly, draw- 
ing Lois to her, with a glad sense that at last pa- 
tient love had conquered and she had won this 
wayward heart. “ Now we shall be firmer friends 
in the future, I know;” and she kissed the face, 
which wore a softened, subdued expression, very 
different from the usual hard, defiant look. “ Now 
will you go to your mother, dear, and comfort 
her?” 


COMFORT. 


109 

Yes,” answered Lois, returning Mrs. Morse’s 
caress before she rose, and they went together in 
search of the lonely mother. 

Lois paused before the little coffin that stood 
in the centre of the room and leaned over it with 
a loving, lingering look. 

Even more beautiful than it had been in life 
was the sweet little face, so tranquilly peaceful, 
the soft golden hair falling about it and hiding all 
trace of deformity, while the tiny hands clasped 
some of Nina’s white rosebuds. It was more like 
sleep than death, and it was no wonder the sister’s 
eyes rested fondly on the beautiful picture. 

Mrs. Cramer came in, her face pale and grief- 
worn, and when Lois turned and saw her her 
heart smote her for her selfishness and neglect. 

“Mother !” she cried, stretching out her arms, 
and in another instant the mother and daughter 
were locked in a close embrace, while their tears 
mingled. 

Mrs. Morse came quietly away and left them 
there beside the little coffin with its quiet form, 
and they were alone in the sacredness of their 


sorrow. 


no 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE FUNERAL. 

Nina won from her mother a reluctant con- 
sent to her attendance at Bertie’s funeral. She 
knew it would be of no use to ask Florence to ac- 
company her, and she was shy about going alone; 
so just as Mrs. Morse was about to start she was 
surprised at Nina’s appearance and timid inquiry 
whether she might accompany her to the funeral. 

“Certainly, Nina,” she answered cordially. 
“ I am so glad you thought of going. I am sure 
Eois will appreciate your sympathy. I must tell 
you now what I know she will tell you after a 
time, how much pleased Bertie was with your 
gift. He seemed to enjoy the strawberries more 
than anything he had eaten for some time past, 
and he held the violets in his hand until they 
withered. It was a kind thought, dear.” 

Nina’s face grew bright at her teacher’s words. 
A petted only child, with every wish anticipated, 
she rarely had an opportunity to show kindness 
to any one, and her heart was gladdened at the 
thought that she had added any pleasure to the 
last days of a dying child. 


THE FUNERAL. 


Ill 


Nina was not the only one of her class who 
had thought of attending the funeral. Early that 
morning Mattie had come to her teacher to know 
whether she thought Eois would be pleased if the 
three girls should be present at the funeral servi- 
ces, or whether she would regard it as an intru- 
sion. 

“ I am sure she will be glad to know that you 
remembered her in her sorrow, Mattie,’’ Mrs. 
Morse had answered. 

“ Then we ’ll get half a day off from the store 
and go home at noon and get dressed,” Mattie 
answered, and hurried away, fearful that, not- 
withstanding her early start, she might be late in 
reaching the store. 

So it happened that at two o’clock all of the 
class but Florence were there, subdued and sym- 
pathetic as they looked on the sorrow that none of 
them had ever known themselves. 

Nina’s blue eyes grew misty as she looked at 
the sweet face. 

“Poor Lois! How could she give him up 
when he is so beautiful?” she whispered to Mrs. 
Morse, her heart full of sympathy. 

Warm-hearted Mattie sobbed aloud as she 
buried her face in her handkerchief; Etta and 
Nora were hardly less moved; and as Mr. Morse 
proceeded with the solemn and beautiful words of 


II2 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


the funeral service, and spoke words of hope to 
the mourners, many a subdued sob was heard. 

The sympathy that Nina and Mattie and her 
two friends felt for Tois drew them nearer togeth- 
er than anything else would have done; and be- 
side Bertie’s coffin much of the bitter dislike and 
scorn which had separated the girls melted away 
never to return. 

“ I didn’t think she had heart enough to care 
about anybody else’s troubles,” thought Mattie 
self-reproachfully, “and here she feels as bad as 
anybody. I haven’t been fair to her, I guess. I 
do n’t believe she is half as proud and stuck-up as 
I thought she was.” 

And Nina thought, “Those girls are good- 
hearted, if they are so common. It was real nice 
in them to think of sending that crown of violets, 
and then it’s good in them to come. But what 
dresses to wear at a funeral ! Those^]Dig red roses 
on Mattie’s hat are dreadfully out of place, though 
they look comparatively quiet compared to Nora’s 
red velveteen. I suppose they don’t know gny 
better, though, poor things. I have half a mind 
to speak to them when we go out and say some- 
thing pleasant. I wonder what Florence would 
say.” 

The solemn words of the prayer chained her 
wandering thoughts, and for the first time in her 


THE EUNERAL. 


happy, care-free existence Nina had an uneasy 
conviction that something was lacking in her life, 
and that, full of health and strength as she was, 
death must come to her some day, and what 
then ? 

No wonder the question troubled her, for she 
could not answer it satisfactorily. 

There was only one carriage to convey the lit- 
tle family and Mr. Morse to the cemetery, and the 
others quietly went their homeward ways at the 
conclusion of the service. 

Nina was in such a softened mood that it was 
no effort for her to carry out her kindly intention 
of speaking to her classmates, and they were both 
surprised and delighted at the friendly, though 
hushed, greeting they received from the girl who 
had hitherto disdained to notice them. She 
walked with them to the corner where their paths 
separated, forgetting her old wonder how Mrs. 
Morse could bear to be seen on the street with 
them ; then, bidding them a pleasant farewell, she 
joined Mrs. Morse, whose homeward steps turned 
in the same direction as her own. 

Mrs. Morse saw that Nina was impressed by 
the solemn service she had witnessed, and she 
wished that she might have an opportunity to 
deepen the serious impressions by a quiet con- 
versation. 


Mrs. Morse’s Girls. 


8 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


II4 

“ Wont you come in, Nina?” she asked as she 
reached her doorstep; then, seeing that the young 
girl looked half disposed to accept her invitation, 
she added, “I wish you could spend the rest of 
the afternoon and take tea with me. Wont you? 
I will send a message to your mother, so she will 
not be uneasy about you. I shall be quite alone, 
for Mr. Morse will not be back for some time, and 
I should be very glad to have you. ’ ’ 

Nina gladly accepted the invitation, delight- 
ed at the thought of a long tete-a-tete with her 
beloved teacher, and a note was speedily de- 
spatched to Mrs. Maynard telling her where Nina 
was. 

“What a cosey time we will have!” exclaimed 
Nina in delight as Mrs. Morse took her up to her 
own pretty room, where they would be safe from 
interruptions. “No, please; if you will let me 
make myself comfortable in my own way, I would 
rather sit here on this ottoman and put my head 
in your lap than take a rocking-chair. I shall 
feel so much nearer to you. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Morse smiled as Nina nestled down in 
her favorite attitude, the fluffy golden hair rest^ 
ing on the lady’s knee while the blue eyes looked 
lovingly up into her face. 

‘ ‘ Do you know that you did something that 
pleased me very much to-day, Nina?” she asked 


THE FUNERAL. II5 

as she clasped the hand that was put into her own 
with a loving pressure. 

‘‘I’m so glad!” Nina answered. “What was 
it, Mrs. Morse? Going to Bertie’s funeral?” 

“No, that was not what I meant, though I was 
glad to see you express your sympathy with Lois. ’ ’ 

“Then I can’t' guess what it was,” answered 
Nina. “I’ll do it again, Mrs. Morse, if you will 
tell me what it was,” she added with a mischiev- 
ous glance. 

“Then I will certainly tell you,” responded 
her teacher. ‘ ‘ I was so pleased to see you speak- 
ing pleasantly to Mattie and Etta and Nora. You 
don’t know how it has grieved me to see the di- 
visions in my class and the unkind feeling which 
has seemed to exist among you; and to-day you 
took the first step towards bringing about a better 
state of feeling. It wasn’t very hard, was it, 
dear ?” 

“No; it was n’t hard to-day,” admitted Nina, 
“though somehow I never felt like speaking to 
them before. I wish they weren’t such common 
girls, Mrs. Morse; then I would like them. They 
do dress so! Did you see the bright things they 
had on at the funeral, all the red roses and scarlet 
bows ?” 

“Yes, dear, I noticed it; but then I knew 
something that you didn’t, so I did not feel as 


Il6 MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 

you did about it,” answered Mrs. Morse. “I 
think perhaps you will have a kinder feeling to- 
wards those girls if I tell you some things about 
them that I have learned. You have such an 
abundance of pretty toilets that I don’t suppose 
it has ever occurred to you that they have but one 
best dress; so they had no choice but to wear their 
best to this service, for in their every-day clothes 
they would not have felt that they were showing 
any respect to Lois. Then it cost them something 
to come to the funeral. They are all employed in 
a store, and being absent for two or three hours 
means the loss of half a day’s wages; yet they 
were willing to lose this to show their sympathy 
and kindly feeling. The flowers they sent cost 
them nearly another day’s wages ; and I fancy, 
Nina dear, that in all your life you have never 
done as much hard work as is done in one day by 
those girls who stand behind counters waiting on 
customers who are apt to be impatient and thought- 
less sometimes, and thus add to the necessary la- 
bor of the saleswomen.” 

‘ ‘ It must be dreadful to have to work so hard 
for one’s living,” murmured Nina thoughtfully, 
beginning to realize that all lives were not as care- 
fully shielded as her own from all that was un- 
pleasant. 

“ I think you would admire Mattie if you saw 


THE FUNERAE. 


I17 

her at home,” continued Mrs. Morse. “Yes; I 
mean admire^ Nina,” as the young girl looked up 
in surprise. “You may not admire her lack of 
taste and her showy dress, but you eould not help 
admiring her bright unselfish spirit. There is a 
large family of younger brothers and sisters, and 
as soon as Mattie gets home from the store she 
goes to work to help her mother. There are al- 
ways little household duties that the mother has 
set aside for her; and besides doing those, Mattie 
does most of the sewing for the children. From 
the time when she gets up in the morning until 
she goes to bed at night she is hard at work, but 
her mother says she never complains about being 
overworked, and is always willing and ready to do 
anything she can, while her father says it ’s like 
the sunshine when Mattie comes in. Now don’t 
you think there is a great deal to admire in Mat- 
tie, though you may have few interests or tastes in 
common ?” 

“I suppose I should fall in love with her if she 
were a girl in a story-book,” answered Nina, who 
had been listening with interest. “I shall like 
her after this, anyway,” she added. “I never 
knew there was anything nice about her, and her 
gorgeous dresses and paste jewelry set me against 
her. I can’t understand how any girl can wear 
such things.” 


Il8 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

“I think I understand it,” answered Mrs. 
Morse. ” She has a girlish love for pretty things, 
just as you have; but she has neither the means 
nor the taste to gratify her desires as you do, so 
she satisfies herself with cheap, gay finery; and 
as her taste has never been educated, she is quite 
as contented with her dresses as you are with your 
more tasteful ones.” 

”I am glad she can be satisfied with them,” 
said Nina, forgetting that scarcely three weeks 
ago she had echoed her mother’s wish that “shop- 
girls and all that set might be restricted to a neat 
uniform, instead of being allowed to perpetrate 
outrageous imitations of other people’s toilets.” 

“Tell me about the other girls, please, Mrs. 
Morse,” she begged. 

And the teacher, delighted at her increasing 
interest in her classmates, gladly told her all about 
their lives that she thought would interest her 
and win her sympathy. 

“They haven’t any of them got as happy a 
home as I have,” said Nina after a few moments’ 
silent thought. “I’m sorry I have always looked 
down on them so, Mrs. Morse, and after this I do 
mean to treat them nicely ; truly I do. It has 
been so silly in me to hold myself so far above 
them, for I never did anything to deserve a bet- 
ter home than they have; and I am afraid I have 


THE FUNERAL. II9 

often hurt their feelings. It was so mean in me 
to do anything to make them unhappy, when I 
have so much more to make me happy than they. 
Mrs. Morse, I ’m so glad you have always been so 
sweet and lovely to them. It used to provoke me 
to see you just as pleasant to them as you were to 
me, but I ’m glad now.” 

Nina’s better impulses were happily reached, 
and Mrs. Morse was not afraid that she would 
ever relapse into her old way of contemptuous 
indifference. 

“Now I am going to ask your help about 
something, Nina,” she said; and the young girl 
joyfully answered, 

“ I ’m so glad! There is n’t anything I should 
like better than helping you.” 

“I don’t think those three girls have much 
pleasure in their lives, and I want to ask them 
here to spend a pleasant, social evening; but I 
want to invite all my class at the same time, so 
they will not feel that they are singled out by 
themselves. Now may I depend on you to help 
me entertain them so that they will have a pleas- 
ant time? Lois of course will not care to come, 
but I want you to bring Florence.” 

Nina hesitated and flushed as she imagined the 
disgust Florence would express at the mere idea 
of spending an evening in such company. Then 


120 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


she answered slowly, “I don’t believe I could 
bring Florence, Mrs. Morse. She ’s just lovely, 
and my dearest friend, but I ’m afraid she would 
not come if she knew the rest of the class were 
coming; and if she came without knowing it, I 
am pretty sure it would n’t be very pleasant.” 

Mrs. Morse smiled at Nina’s cautious admis- 
sion that it would not be very pleasant. “Well, 
I will invite her, at any rate,” she said brightly, 
‘ ‘ and she can use her own discretion about com- 
ing, of course.” 

“ I’ll be as kind as can be to the girls, myself,” 
answered Nina, “and I would really be glad of a 
chance to show them I was sorry for the way I 
have been treating them. ’ ’ 

So Mrs. Morse saw the way opening now to 
carry out her plan successfully. 


THE INVITATIONS. 


I2I 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE INVITATIONS. 

There was so much that was lovable and un- 
selfish in Nina’s disposition that even her home- 
training and influence had not resulted in making 
her wholly worldly and frivolous. 

Mrs. Morse longed to arouse all that was noble 
and womanly in her, and bring her to consecrate 
her young life, with all its possibilities, to the 
Saviour, and she wondered whether it would be a 
hard task to awaken her to a sense of her need of 
him. 

Even while she was pondering this subject 
Nina spoke with a little sigh. “Mrs. Morse, I 
half wish I had not gone to the funeral this after- 
noon.” 

“Why, dear?” 

“It makes me feel so unsatisfied and uncom- 
fortable, somehow. I want something, I don’t 
know what. ’ ’ 

“ Shall I tell you, Nina?” 

“Yes, please,” answered Nina, half surprised 
at the question. 

Nina never forgot the earnest, loving talk that 


122 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


followed. Bven if slie had not loved and admired 
the speaker, she could not have failed to be 
touched and impressed by her earnestness; and 
loving her as she did, every word sank deep into 
her heart. 

She had heard the same truths preached from 
the pulpit hundreds of times, for her father and 
mother never failed to attend church once every 
Sunday, no matter how they might spend the rest 
of the day. 

In Sunday-school Mrs. Morse had often tried 
to impress her class with the reality of the truths 
they were studying, but Nina had always supposed 
in a vague way that these words were meant for 
somebody else rather than for herself; this after- 
noon, however, there was no escape from the sense 
that she herself was the only one intended. 

“Nina dear, wont you think about what I 
have been saying when you are alone in your 
room to-night and try to decide now for Jesus? 
He has been waiting for you so long, and you do 
not know what peace and happiness you are miss- 
ing by staying away from him.” 

Nina threw her arms impulsively about her 
teacher’s neck. “I love you for caring so much 
about me,” she said earnestly. “Nobody ever 
talked that way to me before, and I know lots of 
church members. I never thought that all the 


THE INVITATIONS. 


123 


things I heard on Sunday were really true. Oh, 
I don’t mean just that,” she added hastily, as she 
saw the look of surprise on Mrs. Morse’s face. 
“Of couVse I knew they were true, but I didn’t 
know people ever thought about them or talked 
about them any time but on Sunday. I will try 
to be good just to please you.” 

“I want you to have a higher motive than 
that, darling,” answered Mrs. Morse as she drew 
the loving girl closer to her. ‘ ‘ I shall pray very 
often that God will draw you to him and make 
you his own. Don’t you want me to ask him 
now?” 

“Yes, please,” whispered Nina, and with 
her teacher’s arm lovingly encircling her the two 
knelt down in that quiet room, and half wonder- 
ingly, half fearfully Nina heard herself being 
commended to her Heavenly Father’s love and 
mercy. No other prayer she had ever listened to 
had touched her heart as this one did, and when 
she arose from her knees her cheeks were wet 
with tears of mingled feelings. 

They sat in the quiet twilight until Mr. Morse’s 
returning footsteps were heard; then the tea-bell 
sounded its summons, and they went down to the 
cosey meal. 

When the time came to go Nina reluctantly 
bade her friend farewell, whispering, “I am so 


124 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


glad you asked me to spend this afternoon with 
you; I have been so happy; and I shall never for- 
get what you have said. ’ ’ 

Mr. Morse accompanied her home, and Nina 
found that he could be very entertaining and pleas- 
ant, if he was a minister, and she was pleased 
when her father insisted upon his coming in and 
making a short call before he returned home. 

She did not enter into the full particulars of 
her afternoon’s doings, but contented herself with 
telling her father and mother that she had enjoyed 
her visit with Mrs. Morse very much. 

She was glad to gain the solitude of her own 
room, for she wanted an opportunity for thought, 
and in the silence Mrs. Morse’s earnest words 
came back to her. Almost they determined her 
to decide to give her life to God, but she held 
back from the final surrender of self and pleaded 
for more time before decision ; so the matter was 
left unsettled. 

Mrs. Morse would have been encouraged, how- 
ever, if she could have known for how long a 
time Nina’s thoughts, for the first time in her 
life, turned upon the subject of her personal sal- 
vation, and she would have looked forward hope- 
fully to a speedy harvest. 

She soon put her plan of inviting her class to 
spend the evening with her into execution. 


THE INVITATIONS; 


125 


Mattie, on her return home one evening after 
a particularly trying and tiring day in the store, 
forgot all her troubles in her delight at finding a 
letter in Mrs. Morse’s graceful handwriting di- 
rected to her. 

‘ ‘ What is it, Mattie ?’ ’ asked her mother ea- 
gerly as Mattie gave a cry of delight, and snatch- 
ing Nan up from the floor, whirled her about in 
an impromptu dance; and the wondering children 
echoed, 

“What is it?” 

“You couldn’t guess, so I’ll tell you,” said 
Mattie proudly. “It’s nothing less than an invi- 
tation for me to take tea at Mrs. Morse’s house 
to-morrow evening. What do you think of that, 
mother ?” 

“I think she’s a daisy teacher,” interposed 
Mattie’s small brother, dropping into the slang 
which he found best expressed his opinion on the 
subject. 

“I do think it’s lovely in her,” exclaimed 
Mattie enthusiastically. ‘ ‘ I wonder if all the 
class are invited. I must run over to Nora’s after 
tea and see if she has an invitation too. ’ ’ 

Before she had leisure to carry out this inten- 
tion, and while the family were still gathered at 
the table, Etta and Nora came in, each proudly 
waving an invitation. 


126 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


“Wont we have a nice time, though!” ex- 
claimed Etta. “You ought to have seen aunt’s 
face when she read the note. ‘ I suppose you can 
go since you’re invited,’ she said, ‘but I don’t 
know what on earth she wants you for. ’ I wish I 
had a new dress to wear. ’ ’ 

“You extravagant girl!” laughed Mattie. 
“Why, you’ve had two new dresses since I have 
had one. You’ll look plenty nice enough. 
Was n’t it nice in her to have tea at seven ? She 
knew if it was any earlier we would have to lose 
time at the store.” 

Such an event as that invitation was to these 
three girls ! They talked of it all the evening, 
and all the next day their conversation was inter- 
larded with allusions to it, and the afternoon 
hours had never seemed to drag themselves away 
as slowly as they did upon this particular day. 

At last the laggard hands crept around the dial 
and pointed to six o’clock, and with beaming 
faces the girls hastily started homeward, impa- 
tient of the smallest delay, lest they should not 
reach Mrs. Morse’s house at the appointed hour. 

Nina was looking forward to the evening too, 
though with less of eagerness than the other invi- 
ted guests. She was very proud of having been 
taken into Mrs. Morse’s confidence, and deter- 
mined to prove herself worthy of it. She was 


THE INVITATIONS. 


127 


greatly dismayed, therefore, when she mentioned 
the invitation to her mother, saying that it inclu- 
ded the class, to hear, 

“Why, Nina, you must be crazy to think of 
spending the evening with those girls ! What is 
Mrs. Morse thinking of to ask you to do such a 
thing ? I can’t think of letting you go.” 

“O mamma,” cried Nina, “I have just set 
my heart on going. I’ll be dreadfully disap- 
pointed if you don’t let me.” 

“Why, I never heard anything so ridiculous 
from you,” answered her mother. “What possi- 
ble pleasure c6uld you find in spending an even- 
ing with such low, common girls? It’s just a 
foolish notion of yours, and you must put it out 
of your head. Papa will take you to the opera if 
you give this other crazy notion up. Now do be 
reasonable, my dear.” 

But Nina was not to be turned aside from her 
purpose by even so seductive a bribe as the prom- 
ise of an evening at the opera. 

“Now, mamma dear,” she said coaxingly, 
with her arms about her mother’s neck, “this 
isn’t a whim. I want to go to Mrs. Morse’s just 
awfully^ and if I can’t go there I don’t want to 
go anywhere else. You wont deny me when you 
know that I really have been counting on going.” 

As Nina hoped, her mother was not proof 


128 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


against this entreaty, and very reluctantly she 
gave her consent. 

“ But tell me what you w^ant to go for, dear,” 
she asked curiously. 

Nina blushed a little as she said, “Now you 
must promise not to laugh at me if I tell you, 
wont you ? Well, I want to help Mrs. Morse give 
those girls a good time. If I had to work in a 
store all day long I’d like to have a good time 
once in a while, and so I want to go and help 
Mrs. Morse entertain them. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Maynard opened her eyes in surprise. 
“Well, what ever put that notion into your 
head?” she exclaimed. 

But Nina put her hand over her mouth laugh- 
ingly. “You promised not to laugh at me, mam- 
ma, and you must keep your word. Thank you 
ever so much for letting me go;” and she ran up 
to her room to avoid any further discussion of the 
subject, lest even yet permission might be re- 
voked. 


THE TEA-PARTY. 


129 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE TEA-PARTY. 

Of the invited guests Nina was the first to 
arrive, and she was just telling Mrs. Morse how 
hard it had been for her to convince her mother 
that she really expected to enjoy an evening spent 
with her class, when the door-bell rang and the 
other guests w^ere announced. 

Nina’s first inquiry had been as to whether . 
Florence was coming, and it was with a feeling 
of decided relief that she heard she had sent a 
regret. 

“I’m glad,” thought Nina; “for I know 
she wouldn’t have enjoyed the evening herself if 
she had come, and she would have scared the 
other girls so they w^ouldn’t have enjoyed it 
either; and then if I had been nice to them, very 
probably she would have been cross at me for it ; 
so it’s better as it is.” 

Mattie was seized with a sudden fit of shyness 
after she had rung the door-bell, and was strongly 
tempted to yield to a childish impulse and run 
away; but Mrs. Morse’s cordial greeting soon 
put her, and her companions also, at their ease. 

Mr». Morse’s Girls. 9 


130 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

Still the few minutes spent in the parlor before 
the ringing of the tea-bell proved a trying time, 
for the girls, with flushed faces, sat upright on 
the edge of their chairs and seemed to be too 
embarrassed to respond to any of the efforts that 
Mrs. Morse made to engage them in conversa- 
tion. 

The tea-bell was a welcome signal to all. 
Gathered around the prettily-set table with its 
delicate, old-fashioned china and appetizing food, 
the girls soon forgot their embarrassment and be- 
gan to really enjoy their evening. 

If Nina had had some expectation that they 
would not be able to conduct themselves wuth 
propriety at a table so very different from what 
she imagined they were used to at home, she was 
agreeably disappointed, for they behaved well 
and evidently were not under too great restraint 
to enjoy themselves. 

Nina kept her promise of helping Mrs. Morse. 
Mattie was seated beside her at the table, and 
she talked pleasantly to her in all the little pauses 
of the general conversation. There was no con- 
descension in her manner, for Mattie would have 
been quick to note and resent it; but she was 
as unaffectedly interested in all that her neighbor 
said as if she had been sitting beside Florence. 

The pleasant conversation prolonged the re- 


THE TEA-PARTY. 


13I 

past considerably, and before they rose from the 
table the girls were unanimous in their favorable 
opinion of Mr. Morse. 

They returned to the parlor, where the open 
piano with music scattered over it was sugges- 
tive. 

“Nina, wont you play something for us?” 
asked Mrs. Morse; and the girls listened and 
looked in delighted admiration as her slender fin- 
gers ran over the keys in a brilliant fantasia with 
what appeared to them to be marvellous rapidity. 

There was an involuntary chorus of applause 
when she struck the last chord, and Mattie timid- 
ly begged her to play again. Nina complied 
with such good-humored readiness that she quite 
completed her conquest of her classmate, and 
under the influence of her winning smiles and 
pleasant words that evening Mattie forgot that 
this same girl had ever brought tears to her eyes 
by her scornful treatment. 

After Nina had finished playing they all sang 
their favorites among the familiar Sunday-school 
hymns, and Mr. Morse joined them with his rich 
bass. 

Then Mrs. Morse proposed some games, and 
the evening passed away all too quickly. When 
the clock on the mantel-piece chimed the hour 
of ten, Etta looked up in startled dismay. 


132 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


“Oh, is it really ten o’clock? I promised 
aunt that I would be home at nine.” 

“I had no idea it was so late,” said Mattie 
with motherly solicitude, for she felt as if Etta 
was under her care. “Well, we’ll hurry and 
get home as soon as we can. ’ ’ 

Mr. Maynard called for Nina; and much to 
the surprise of the other girls, when they came 
down stairs with their things on they found Mr. 
Morse ready to escort them home. 

“I never had such a lovely time in all my 
life!” exclaimed Nora enthusiastically, as she 
bade Mrs. Morse good night. 

“Nor I either,” said Etta. 

And Mattie added, ‘ ‘ I wish I had some way 
of making you have as nice a time as you’ve 
given us this evening.” 

Aunt Martha was disposed to be very angry 
at her niece’s long stay, but when the minister 
himself brought her home, and said they had 
enjoyed her visit, she was too amazed to utter ^a 
single word of reproof. 

Although Mrs. Morse felt more than repaid 
for the little trouble the tea-party had cost her, 
by the girls’ happy faces and their evident en- 
joyment of the evening, still she had very little 
idea what a bright spot it had made in the mo- 
notony of their lives. For days afterwards they 


THE TEA-PARTY. 1 33 

talked about it, and it became a date from wbicb 
they reckoned all subsequent events. 

Some people might have wondered that she 
took as much pains with the arrangement of the 
table and the preparation of the supper as if the 
most honored and critical guests were coming; 
but nothing of the daintiness and delicacy was 
lost upon the beauty-loving girls, even though 
their taste might not have been highly cultiva- 
ted. 

It had been a successful evening in every 
way, and the girls were caught more firmly in 
the meshes of the net of love which their teach- 
er was striving to throw about them. 

The utter absence of all jealousy or bitter feel- 
ing between Nina and the other girls rejoiced her 
greatly, and her heart yearned over the loving, 
impulsive girl who could so easily be influenced 
aright. 

There was no cloud to mar the perfect happi- 
ness of the evening for any except Nina. 

“What will Florence say?^’ was her half- 
fearful thought, for she could not bear the idea 
of another estrangement. 

When she met Florence the next day she 
hoped for a time that her friend would not men- 
tion the subject; but her hopes were rudely dashed 
to the ground when Florence, with an ominous 


134 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


apparent ignorance of Nina’s whereabouts on the 
previous evening, remarked, 

“I was quite disappointed that you did not 
run over to see me last evening, Nina. I laid out 
some duets and thought we would have a cosey 
evening all by ourselves, for father and mother 
were both out. I felt just like talking to you, and 
I was really disappointed when it grew so late 
that I had to give up all hopes of you. ’ ’ 

Nina’s cheeks grew pink. She was sure that 
Florence knew where she had spent the evening, 
and it was very hard to answer her apparently in- 
nocent observation. 

“Why, I thought you knew. I had an invi- 
tation to take tea at Mrs. Morse’s last evening,” 
she began faintly. “ Did n’t you have an invita- 
tion too?” 

“Yes; but of course I never thought for a mo- 
ment of accepting it,” Florence replied. “It is 
quite bad enough to have to sit in the same class 
with those girls on Sunday without deliberately 
going to spend the evening with them. Surely 
you did not go, Nina?” 

It was very hard for poor Nina to answer this 
question when Florence asked it in tones of such 
icy surprise. “ Yes, I went,” she said, half wish- 
ing now that she had not gone, since she was so 
surely to incur Florence’s displeasure. 


THE tea-party. 


135 

“Why, Nina Maynard! I would not have 
believed it a possible thing if you had not told 
me yourself. As it is, I must believe there is 
some mistake about it. Purely you did not go 
knowing that you were to meet those very ob- 
jectionable girls ?’ ’ 

“Yes,” faltered Nina, feeling quite overcome 
with the appalling magnitude of her offence. She 
did not venture to look up until the silence that 
followed grew unendurable; then the look of cold 
disapprobation on Florence’s face almost brought 
tears to her eyes. 

“Florence, please don’t be angry with me,” 
she cried entreatingly. 

“Why, Nina, there is no reason why I should 
be angry at anything you may choose to do,” 
Florence answered in the hard tones that always 
wounded Nina’s tender heart so sorely. “You 
may choose your friends where you please; it is 
nothing to me.” And she changed the subject 
with an air that convinced Nina it would be 
wisest to say nothing more about the occasion 
of offence at present. 


MRS. morse’s GIRES. 


136 


CHAPTER XVI. 
questions. 

Mrs. Morse sometimes despaired of ever win- 
ning any influence over Florence, she seemed 
such a perfect woman of the world, young in 
years as she was; and though intellectually she 
was one of Mrs. Morse’s most interesting scholars, 
she plainly manifested her determination not to 
pay the least attention to any of the personal ap- 
plications that her teacher tried each Sunday to 
induce the girls to make. 

Mrs. Morse saw with regret what an influence 
she had obtained over Nina, and it seemed an al- 
most hopeless task to try to counteract it. Flor- 
ence’s reserved manner and unresponsiveness 
seemed to charm Nina into more devoted admira- 
tion instead of repelling her, and it cost her quite 
a struggle sometimes to carry out her resolve to 
treat the other scholars in the class with courtesy 
and consideration. 

After a lapse of two or three Sundays Lois 
took her place again in the class, looking very 
pale and sad in her black dress; but the old re- 
pellant manner that had isolated her from all the 


QUESTIONS. 137 

others in times past had vanished and a new gen- 
tleness had taken its place. 

The sympathy that her classmates had shown 
her in her time of sorrow had softened her heart 
towards them, and she thanked them for their 
kindness in faltering tones that spoke of her emo- 
tion. 

Nina forgot that Florence’s eyes were upon 
her, and she clasped Lois’ hand in a warm pres- 
sure that told of sympathy and affection, when 
she heard of Bertie’s pleasure in the fruit she had 
sent him. 

“If it were not for Florence!” Mrs. Morse 
found herself thinking again and again as she no- 
ticed how quickly a hardly perceptible frown of 
annoyance on her calm brow would check Nina 
in a glow of enthusiasm over the lesson, or how 
an earnest appeal would be unheeded because 
Florence would manage to distract the attention 
of the class in some apparently unintentional way. 

She tried perseveringly to win the girl, but 
there were none of the signs that there had been 
in Lois’ case that her patience would be reward- 
ed with success, and so she put this scholar into 
God’s keeping, feeling that her human love and 
wisdom could do nothing here, and that only the 
Spirit could soften this heart. 

Even Florence’s influence, however, was not 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


138 

enough to crush out the germs of good that had 
taken root in Nina’s heart and were beginning to 
spring up. New, earnest desires for something 
better than anything she had yet known were as- 
serting themselves, and she did not try to banish 
them. 

Mrs. Morse’s influence was making itself felt 
in the class generally and she was very happy in 
her work of sowing seeds of good in these young 
hearts, and now that she felt assured that she had 
won their love, she eagerly looked forward to 
leading them by this human affection to the Sa- 
viour’s love. 

“ Mrs. Morse, let me congratulate you on your 
success,” Mr. Pearsall said one Sunday afternoon 
as he saw Nina exchange pleasant farewells with 
the other scholars as they separated at the door. 
“You have worked wonders in your class, for I 
had begun to think it was a hopeless task to at- 
tempt to bring those incongruous elements into 
harmony ; yet I see it is accomplished. ’ ’ 

“ I feel very much blessed in my efforts,” Mrs. 
Morse answered; “and with but a single excep- 
tion I think the kindest feeling prevails among 
the girls. I have grown to love them dearly, 
even in the comparatively short time that I have 
been with them, and I feel that they return my 
affection. When love is mutual between a teach- 


QUESTIONS. 


139 


er and her class, then the work is easy. My first 
aim has always been to win the love of my schol- 
ars; when that is done, I feel that I can reach 
their hearts more effectually than through any ap- 
peal merely to their intellect.” 

‘ ‘ I am very glad that you were led to take 
that class,” said Mr. Pearsall. “Our young men 
are getting along well with the doctor, and though 
I don’t tell him so, I think it is as good a thing 
for him as for the boys to have charge of a class; 
but I am sure no one else could have done what 
you have with those girls.” 

Some one claimed his attention just then and 
he hastily excused himself, while Mrs. Morse 
gathered up her books and the maps with which 
she had been illustrating the lesson and joined her 
husband, who was awaiting her at the door. 

It was her usual custom, every Sunday, to 
give each of her class a written question bearing 
upon the lesson for the following Sunday. The 
girls wrote the answers during the week and read 
them aloud in the class. 

To-day she had given them sealed envelopes 
containing questions which, she told them, she 
wanted them to answer in writing for her to read 
on the following Sunday. 

“I shall not read these answers aloud,” she 
assured them, “but I want you to answer prayer- 


140 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

fully and thoughtfully when you are alone by 
yourselves. ’ ’ 

Mattie put the envelope in her Bible and did 
not think of it again until she was preparing for 
bed that evening. A white corner protruding 
from the leaves of the Bible recalled it to her 
mind, and taking it out she opened it and read 
the questions. 

“Are you a Christian?” 

That was the first question, and Mattie read it 
with a half-puzzled, half-startled expression on 
her face. 

How was she to answer that question ? 

“I’m not a church member, if that’s what 
she means, but she knows that already,” she 
mused, as she let her thick, long hair fall about 
her shoulders and brushed with the vigor and 
energy which distinguished all of Mattie’s move- 
ments. 

“I am afraid I must write No to that ques- 
tion,” she concluded after a few minutes’ thought. 

“ Do you intend ever to become a Christian?” 

That was the second question, and Mattie 
could glibly answer that. 

‘ ‘ Of course I mean to be one some day. I 
mean to be a good deal better than I am now 
some day. I would n’t want to die without being 
ready for it. It’s awful enough to die when any- 


QUESTIONS. 


141 

body’s good, and I wouldn’t die the way I am 
now for anything. ’ ’ 

“Why are you not a Christian now?” was 
the last question; and Mattie sat for a long time 
in quiet thought. 

Why was she not a Christian ? She knew the 
necessity for being one; she was not contented to 
live and die without any personal knowledge of 
the Saviour; she knew that there was nothing to 
prevent her from going to him just then and there 
in that quiet room. There was no reason to give 
for her delay. If she could not answer her teach- 
er, how could she answer God if she should be 
suddenly called away before she had time to pre- 
pare for death and be asked that question ? 

“ But I am young and strong. I may live for 
fifty years yet, and I have plenty of time to get 
ready to die,” she argued to herself ; but this ar- 
gument could not satisfy her .that it was right to 
delay. 

Had she not known of girls even younger 
than she was who had died, some of them by ac- 
cidents which left them no time for prepara- 
tion ? 

In that prayerless family Mattie, even as a lit- 
tle child, had never been taught to utter a night- 
ly prayer, and she had not the habit of prayer; 
but to-night she knelt down for a few minutes be- 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


142 

fore she laid herself down beside her slumbering 
sister. 

She did not know what to pray for, she did 
not even feel sure what it was that she wanted to 
ask; but somehow the attitude of prayer seemed 
to soothe in some measure the disquiet which 
filled her heart. 

Her sleep was restless and disturbed that night. 
Even in her dreams those questions haunted her, 
and they were uppermost in her mind when she 
awoke in the early dawn, heavy-eyed and unre- 
freshed. 


UNREST. 


143 


CHAPTER XVII. 

UNREST. 

‘‘Are you sick, Mattie?” asked her mother 
the next morning, as she noticed her daughter’s 
unusual languor and silence. 

“I don’t feel like myself,” admitted Mattie, 
“but I ’m not sick. I didn’t sleep well ; that ’s 
all the trouble.” 

‘ ‘ I wish you could get a day off from the store 
and take a little rest,” said her mother as she 
dished up the breakfast. ‘ ‘ I know you can’ t feel 
well when you stand on your feet all day long 
from week in to week out. It worries me a good 
bit when I think about you, but I can’t seem to 
see any help for it when we ’ve got all these hun- 
gry mouths to fill;” and she looked reproachfully 
at the children, who were already in their places 
at the table clamoring loudly for their break- 
fast. 

“There a’ n’t one too many of ’em, anyhow,” 
Mattie said cheerily ; “and don’t you go to wor- 
rying about me, mother. I’m all right. I just 
got to puzzling over my Sunday-school lesson; 
that was all.” 


144 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


She had not much appetite for her breakfast 
after her unusual restlessness, but she forced her- 
self to eat it, partly that her mother might not be 
uneasy about her during the day, for Mrs. Brown 
was a woman who, as her neighbors said, “set 
great store by worry in’,” and partly because she 
knew that she would be sick and faint long before 
lunch-time if she started off without a good break- 
fast. 

All day long the question followed her with a 
persistency that would not be baffled, ‘ ‘ Why are 
you not a Christian ?’ ’ 

It was not strange that Mattie was not her 
usual bright, merry self when she was trying to 
find an answer that should satisfactorily dispose 
of that question, and her companions wondered at 
her unusual quietness and abstraction. 

“You must be in love, Mattie,” one of them 
said laughingly, and the others took up the jest. 

“Who is it, Mattie?” 

“ Show us his picture, that ’s a good girl.” 

But though Mattie took their bantering good- 
naturedly, they soon found that she was not in the 
mood for merriment and left her alone with her 
thoughts. 

All day she went mechanically through the 
regular routine of her day’s employment. She 
matched embroideries, took down box after box 


UNREST. 


145 


patiently to satisfy capricious customers, and 
made out checks and counted out change as me- 
thodically as if her mind had not been filled with 
another matter. 

For the first time she was disinclined to walk 
home with Ftta and Nora, for she did not feel 
like joining in the talk and laughter which they 
always indulged in when work was over for the 
day; so, getting her hat, she slipped out of the 
store before they were ready to start. 

“ They ’ll wonder what has become of me, but 
I’ll tell them to-morrow,” she said to herself as 
she hastened along lest she should be overtaken. 

The children’s uproarious welcome diverted 
her somewhat from her perplexing thoughts, and 
she ate her supper with the hearty appetite of one 
who has worked hard. Her mother had a favorite 
dish prepared for her, and she appreciated this 
little attention that told of the mother-love that 
had been thinking of her while she was away. 

While she was helping with the dishes Etta 
and Nora came in to reproach her laughingly 
with her desertion and persuade her to go with 
them for a walk. 

“It will do you good,” Nora urged, “and you 
don’t look like yourself to-day. There’s a new 
mission chapel going to be opened to-night ; let’s 
go up and hear the music. If we don’t like it we 


Mrs. Morse’s Girls. 


10 


146 MRS. MORSE’S GIRI^. 

can slip out easy enough, for likely there’ll be a 
crowd there.” 

Mattie would have declined going merely for 
a walk, but the idea of going to a religious service 
of any kind was attractive to her in her present 
frame of mind. 

Still she lingered for a moment and looked at 
the sewing-machine with its pile of work ready 
for her to stitch. 

“I ought to stay and do that sewing,” she ob- 
jected. “ Mother, did n’t you want me to do that 
to-night for you ?” 

‘ ‘ That can easily wait, ’ ’ answered her mother, 
smiling as Etta and Nora made signs of entreaty 
that Mattie might be allowed to come. “’T is n’t 
often you take an evening off, and I ’d rather wait 
for the sewing than have you stay in and do it to- 
night. Put on your hat and go on with the girls, 
and maybe it’ll do you good.” 

“ Perhaps I can do the sewing after I come 
back, if we don’t stay long,” Mattie said as she 
took off her apron and put on her hat; but her 
mother declared positively that she shouldn’t 
touch a stitch of it that night, so she started feel- 
ing free to stay as long as she wanted to. 

It was quite a walk to the new chapel, and 
the meeting had begun when the girls entered. 
The pews were all filled, and there were seats in 


UNREST. 147 

some of the aisles, so for a few moments they 
stood irresolute, half disposed to go out again. 

An usher came to them while they stood un- 
determined and placed seats in the main aisle for 
them, and they followed him up towards the front 
of the church, feeling that all hope of retreat was 
cut off until the conclusion of the service, for even 
if they were tired of listening they could never 
face all that crowd of people and make their way 
out. 

The singing, was good, and a great wave of 
melody arose from the body of the church as the 
clear, sweet tones of a cornet led in a familiar 
tune. 

It was a popular service intended especially to 
draw and interest people who were not habitual 
church-goers, but who might be led in by the 
singing or by curiosity. No part of the exercises 
was prolonged; the prayer was short, though so 
earnest in its petitions that many a heart felt that 
its needs were being presented before God ; the 
reading of Scripture was brief, interspersed with 
explanatory comments, and plenty of singing 
made the service attractive. 

The preacher was a young man who in his 
zeal for the Master’s cause had consecrated him- 
self to evangelistic labor in mission fields, instead 
of accepting a call to any well-established church, 


148 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

where his eloquence could have commanded a 
good salary. 

He announced his text, and as Mattie heard it 
her heart beat faster. Surely God had sent it to 
her as a message! 

“Now is the accepted time.” 

Plainly and clearly, with the eloquence of per- 
fect simplicity and burning love for souls, did the 
young preacher speak to this assembly of people 
who had come together on that one night, but 
might never come within sound of his voice 
again. 

Many listened eagerly, some indifferently. To 
some it was like a cool spring of water in a thirsty 
land, to others a fable which had no claim upon 
their attention. But the message was delivered, 
and to one soul it brought conviction and an un- 
rest that would not be banished until the peace 
that passeth understanding took its place. 

It was not a long sermon; even the inattentive 
part of the congregation had not time to grow 
weary and listless ; and then a short prayer fol- 
lowed. 

“If there be any here who have not given 
their hearts freely and unreservedly to thee, O 
Christ, wilt thou not give them a terrible unrest, 
so that they may not find peace by day or by 
night until they find it in thy pardoning love?” 


UNREST. 149 

he prayed, and Mattie shivered as she listened to 
his words. 

A terrible unrest ! Was that what she was to 
have? Must she carry this aching heart, this 
disquieting alarm, about with her ; must her days 
be filled with care and the quiet night -season 
with fear until she became a Christian ? Surely 
that was what the prayer meant. The question 
repeated itself again and again, “Why are you 
not a Christian now?” and like an answer came 
the text, Now is the accepted time.” 

There was no reason why she should not be a 
Christian now, every reason why she should. The 
matter had been clearly explained, and she had 
no room left for doubt or hesitation, yet she held 
back from Christ’s offered pardon. 

Why? Ah, why is it that we must all be 
urged and entreated and warned and commanded 
to seek our eternal salvation and happiness? 
Poor human nature, that passes a priceless boon 
unheeded because it is free to all ! 

The hymn rose clear and sweet about her, and ' 
the pathos of the words went straight home to 
Mattie’s music-loving heart. “Almost persua- 
ded.” Yes, almost. It was hard for her to re- 
sist the pleadings of the Spirit which urged her 
to yield once for all to the Saviour, yet it was 
still harder for self-will to be dethroned. 


150 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

When the benediction was pronounced she 
longed to linger and tell the minister her trouble, 
but timidity withheld her from carrying out her 
wish, although he announced that he would be 
glad to engage in religious conversation with any 
one who was interested in spiritual matters. So 
she carried her burden home with her. 


MATTIK’S CONKUCT. 


151 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

MATTIE’S CONFLICT. 

Nora and Etta could not understand Mattie’s 
unusual disinclination to join in their merry chat- 
ter on the way home, and they were half offended 
until she said in a troubled voice, 

“Girls, don’t mind me to-night. I’m puz- 
zling over something, and I’ll tell you about it 
in a day or two. I can’t say anything about it 
yet. ’ ’ 

“Something gone wrong in the store?” Etta 
asked quickly. 

But Mattie answered, “No; it’s only about 
myself.” 

After that they asked her no more questions, 
but considerately talked in low tones and did not 
interrupt her thoughts. 

After Nora bid the other two girls good night 
at the corner where she left them, Mattie and 
Etta walked on for a few minutes in silence, then 
Mattie asked abruptly, 

‘ ‘ Etta, have you looked at your questions for 
next Sunday yet ?” 

“Yes; a’ n’t they strange questions?” was the 


152 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

careless reply. “ They have n’ t got anything to 
do with the lesson either, as far as I can see. ’ ’ 

“ Don’t you think they are hard to answer?” 
Mattie asked after a pause. 

“No; mine a’ n’t; but maybe they ’re different 
from yours,” answered Etta. 

‘ ‘ Would you mind telling me what they were ?’ ’ 
Mattie inquired. 

“No; I’d just as lief tell you the questions, 
and the answers too, for that matter,” Etta re- 
sponded as the two girls paused in front of Mat- 
tie’s door. “The first question is, if I am a 
Christian. That’s easy answered, for I a’ n’t, 
and I don’t make believe to be. If I was I 
wouldn’t behave myself as a good many mem- 
bers of the church do, anyhow. Then the second 
question was, when I meant to be a Christian. I 
am going to put ‘ When I get old ’ for the answer 
to that. And the last was, why a’ n’t I one 
now.” 

“What are you going to answer to that?” 
questioned Mattie, fairly trembling in her ear- 
nestness. 

“I’m going to say, because I a’ n’t good 
enough,” was Etta’s glib response. 

It was evident that the question had not im- 
pressed her as it had Mattie; and when the latter 
had bidden Etta good night and was toiling up 


MATTIE’S CONFLICT. 


153 

the steep stairs she half determined to treat the 
subject as lightly as her friend had. 

But she soon found that she could not do this 
even if she would. She could not put aside this 
question without a definite, satisfactory answer. 

“A terrible unrest.” The words came back 
to her as she tossed sleeplessly on her pillow. It 
frightened her to think of that petition; it was so 
cruel to pray that such a dreadful thing might 
happen to any one. 

Poor Mattie ! It did not occur to her that that 
petition could be uttered in the tenderest love and 
pity, since the granting of it would sooner bring 
the tempest-tossed soul into the perfect peace of 
God’s love. In her ignorance she looked back at 
her past indifference as peace, and did not realize 
that the striving of the Spirit, unhappy as it 
might make her for a time, was infinitely more to 
be desired than a dangerous lethargy. 

Her past life rose before her black and sin- 
stained, and her burden rested heavily upon her. 
She groaned aloud in her distress, and the mo- 
ther’s listening ear caught the sound. 

“ What ’s the matter, child ?” she asked, com- 
ing to the door. “ Do n’t try to keep it back from 
me if you are in pain, but let me do something 
for you. Have you got one of your bad head- 
aches coming on ?” 


154 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


‘ ‘ Oh, I wish that was all it was, ’ ’ sobbed Mat- 
tie. “It’s something you can’t help me with, 
mother. I ’ve got to settle it myself.” 

“What is it?” questioned the mother in anx- 
ious bewilderment; nor was she much enlight- 
ened when Mattie sobbed forth the story of her 
trouble. 

“ You must be going to come down sick,” she 
said decisively, “or you wouldn’t work yourself 
up into such a worry as this. Of course, no one ’s 
perfect in this world; but I say you ’re pretty near 
it, and if your mother doesn’t know what kind of 
a girl you are, who should, I would like to know ? 
Now you lay down and stop thinking and go to 
sleep, and if you don’t feel all right in the morn- 
ing, why, go around and see Mrs. Morse to-mor- 
row evening. She ’s good and kind and seems to 
be right fond of you, and I reckon she can set 
you all right. ’ ’ 

“That’s what I’ll do, mother!” exclaimed 
Mattie eagerly. “ I wonder I did n’t think about 
it myself. She will know what to say to me.” 

The thought of going to that faithful friend 
for advice and help on the morrow quieted her 
immediate distress, and tired nature asserted her 
claims and refreshed the weary body by restful, 
dreamless slumber. 

With the morning came a sense of her burden 


MATTIE’S CONFLICT. 


155 


again, and the mother watched her in wondering 
anxiety as she saw the grave, preoccupied look 
on the face that was usually so smiling. 

“Well, Mattie child, I hope you’ll get over 
this that worries you so to-day, whatever it is,” 
she said. “I don’t like to see you feeling this 
way. ’ ’ 

“Maybe I’ll go and see Mrs. Morse before I 
come home,” Mattie said as she bade her mother 
good-by. “She might go out somewhere if I 
waited to come home and change my dress first, 
and I would n’t miss seeing her for anything. So 
don’t wait supper for me, mother, if I don’t come 
home at the right time.” 

“I’ll keep yours nice and hot for you, any- 
how,” her mother answered, “and you can do 
just as you like about going there first.” 

Mattie longed for evening to come and set her 
at liberty. She wanted to go to Mrs. Morse and 
tell that dear friend all her trouble. She would 
know just how to advise her and set her right; 
and whatever she told her to do should be done at 
once. 

Wearily the hours dragged their slow length 
away. At lunch-time Mattie looked at the clock 
and wondered whether she could possibly go and 
see Mrs. Morse then instead of waiting until even- 
ing; but a few minutes’ calculation of the num- 


156 MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 

ber of blocks to be traversed in the limited time 
convinced her that it would be useless to attempt 
it. She must control her impatience and wait 
until the slow hands pointed to the hour of six. 

The longest day must come to an end at last, 
and finally Mattie was at liberty. A party of the 
girls at her counter were going to a concert that 
evening and they begged her to join them; but 
she was surprised at herself to find how indiffer- 
ent she was to the pleasure over which she would 
generally have grown enthusiastic. She pleaded 
a headache as an excuse for not going with them, 
and her pale face proved the truth of her words. 
Her head throbbed wearily with her perplexing 
thought, and her only desire was to reach some 
decision. 

Mrs. Morse was surprised when, just as she 
was sitting down to tea that evening, the door- 
bell rang and Mattie was announced. Some 
swift intuition told her why Mattie had come to 
her, and attending to her husband’s wants, she 
left her own supper untasted and hastened into 
the parlor. 

She would hardly have recognized her scholar 
in the girl who sat there in an attitude of the 
deepest dejection, Mattie’s quiet every-day dress 
was so different from her gay Sunday clothes, her 
high color had vanished, and the bright black 


MATTIE’S CONFUCT. 1 57 

eyes were softened in their expression and told of 
the tears they had shed. 

Mattie rose and went towards Mrs. Morse with 
outstretched hands that unconsciously made a 
touching gesture of appeal. 

“My dear Mattie, I am so glad to see you,” 
Mrs. Morse said warmly, taking the girl’s hands 
in her own and greeting her with an affectionate 
kiss. 

“What is the matter, dear?” she asked as 
Mattie’s lips quivered and her face worked with 
emotion. “Sit down here beside me and tell 
me all about it,” and she drew her down on the 
sofa. 

The cordial greeting, the tone of loving sym- 
pathy, brought swift tears to Mattie’s eyes, and 
though she tried to speak she could not command 
her voice for a few moments. 

“O Mrs. Morse,” she sobbed at last, “I am 
so miserable !” 

“What makes you miserable, Mattie?” her 
teacher asked gently. 

“ Those questions you gave me last Sunday,” 
Mattie answered. “I can’t answer them, and I 
keep thinking about them all the time. I do 
want to be a Christian, and yet I am afraid. What 
shall I do ?” and her voice faltered. “ Something 
keeps me back, I don’t know what; and yet I 


158 MRS. morse’s girls. 

daren’t wait till I get old, to be good, for fear I 
might die without being ready for it. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Have you prayed about your trouble. Mat- 
tie?” Mrs. Morse asked. 

Mattie shook her head. “No; I don’t know 
just what I want. I only know that I am per- 
fectly miserable. I don’t think I know how to 
pray, Mrs. Morse. Oh, wont you pray for me ?’ ’ 
Gladly Mrs. Morse assented, and in simple 
language carried Mattie’s burden of sin and her 
longing to be free from it before the throne of 
grace; and Mattie, kneeling beside her, felt that 
somehow her heavy heart grew lighter as its sor- 
row was laid at the Saviour’s feet. 

Then Mrs. Morse had a long, loving conversa- 
tion with her, trying to clear away all difficulties 
and make the path plain before Mattie. Though 
she sympathized with her distress, yet her heart 
rejoiced in the knowledge that she had been 
brought to the solemn consideration of the ques- 
tion of personal salvation, and she felt that Mat- 
tie was too much in earnest to leave the matter 
undecided. 

Mr. Morse heard the low, earnest tones, and 
wondered whether his wife was already beginning 
to reap the harvest from the seed she had so pray- 
erfully and patiently sown in such apparently 
sterile soil. It was fully an hour before he heard 


MATTIE’S CONFLICT. 


1 59 

the hall-door open and close as the visitor depart- 
ed, and Mrs. Morse returned to the dining-room. 

Her face was bright and her voice grew trem- 
ulous with earnestness as she told him of her hope 
that Mattie would soon be enabled to make a 
final surrender of herself to God. 

She had prayed so long and earnestly for the 
loved members of her class that she rejoiced great- 
ly in any indications that they were themselves 
concerned about the welfare of their souls, and 
many times during that evening and the succeed- 
ing days did she offer earnest petitions that ]\Iat- 
tie’s conflict might soon end in joyful surrender. 


i6o 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

PEACE. 

Mattie felt as if she had left the heaviest 
part of her burden behind her when she said good- 
by to Mrs. Morse and went out into the quiet star- 
lit evening. The struggle was not yet over, but 
she was determined to decide for Jesus, and the 
knowledge that she had decided for the right 
brought her comparative peace. 

She hastened homeward, fearing that her mo- 
ther might be uneasy at her prolonged absence. 
She was not surprised, when she turned the cor- 
ner of the street, to see her mother on the door- 
step with Nan in her arms, anxiously watching for 
her. 

“I’d begun to think you were lost, for sure,” 
she said when Mattie reached her. “I suppose 
you’ve been to see your teacher, and that’s what 
kept you so long,” she added interrogatively as 
she saw traces of recent tears on Mattie’s face. 

Mattie nodded assent and held out her arms 
for Nan, who sprang into them joyously. 

“I’ve been keeping your supper hot on the 
back of the stove, but I ’m afraid it wont be good 


PEACE. 


l6l 


for much, it’s waited so long,” the mother went 
on as she led the way np stairs. 

She bustled about with affectionate solicitude, 
putting Mattie’s supper on the table for her and 
insisting upon making a fresh cup of tea ; but 
there was something in her daughter’s grave, 
quiet face that restrained her from asking any 
questions as to the result of her visit to Mrs. 
Morse. 

Though she had never had a serious impres- 
sion in her life, nor known what it was to have a 
moment’s uneasiness concerning her soul’s wel- 
fare, yet she somehow dimly realized that Mat- 
tie’s anxiety was not an imaginary trouble that 
she could be talked out of, but something that 
must be thoughtfully settled. 

With unusual delicacy she did not say any- 
thing in the way of rough consolation, nor did 
she attempt to cheer Mattie up by telling her any 
of the neighborhood news, but let her eat her sup- 
per quietly, only showing her sympathy by de- 
monstrative kindness. 

Mattie was glad that Etta and Nora were go- 
ing to the concert, for she did not feel like seeing 
any one. Her great desire was to be alone and 
decide the question that had troubled her so 
sorely. 

Taking Nan in her arms when she had fin- 


Mrs. Mui'bu’h Girlt). 


I 


1 62 MRS. morse’s GIRES. 

ished her supper, she went into the little bed- 
room that she shared with a younger sister and 
prepared the child for bed. 

When this task was completed without the 
frolic which usually accompanied it, she gathered 
up the little white-robed figure in her arms and 
rocked her to sleep. 

Her sad thoughts came back to her as she sat 
there watching the heavy eyelids droop over the 
sleepy brown eyes, and she felt herself drifting 
back into the perplexity and doubt which had 
been so hard to bear. 

“What shall I do?” she asked herself as tears 
filled her eyes. ‘ ‘ I am not fit to be a Christian ; I 
am too wicked.” 

Then Mrs. Morse’s words came back to her: 

“ ‘All the fitness He requireth is to feel your 
need of him.’ Go to him just as you are, and he 
will accept you with all your sins. You only 
show your distrust by trying to make yourself 
worthy.” 

Gently laying the sleeping child in the bed, 
Mattie knelt down beside her, and the first ear- 
nest prayer in her life went up to heaven in a 
heart-cry: “ O God, I give myself to thee. Take 
me just as I am, with all my sins, and forgive me 
for Jesus’ sake.” 

Nothing was kept back from the Master. If 


PEACE. 


163 

lie would only take her, sinful and unworthy as 
she felt herself to be, how gladly she would give 
her whole life to him! 

Even while she knelt there, tears of contrition 
filling her eyes as she realized how great was the 
burden of sin she brought to the Saviour, a sense 
of peace and pardon filled her heart and she real- 
ized the joy of acceptance. Her burden rolled 
from her shoulders and a new happiness took pos- 
session of her. Tears still glistened in her eyes, 
but they were no longer tears of sorrow. 

“It was so easy,” she thought to herself. 
“Just as soon as I gave myself to Jesus he took 
me, and yet I have been thinking it was some- 
thing so hard to be a Christian.” 

Long she knelt there, so happy in her new- 
found peace that she wondered whether it could 
really have been herself who had been so unhappy 
but a little time before. 

“I must tell mother,” she said to herself. 
“How I wish she loved Jesus too!” And step- 
ping softly, lest she should disturb the sleeping 
child, she went out into the other room where her 
mother sat with folded hands, snatching a few 
moments of rest after her long day of work before 
the children should come in from their games in 
the street and her husband from his lounge on the 
doorstep. 


164 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

Mattie crossed the room and put her arms 
around her mother’s neck, while her bright face 
told the story of her peace even before her lips 
uttered it. 

“ Mother dear, it is all right now,” she said as 
her mother looked up in surprise. “ I think Jesus 
has forgiven all my sins, and I have given myself 
to him. My trouble is all over. ” 

“I’m glad.” 

That was all the mother said, but her un- 
wonted caress was more eloquent than her words. 
She felt strangely shy of her daughter just now. 
Some change, some experience, had come to her 
of which she herself knew nothing, and Mattie’s 
subdued joy awed her. 

“Mattie’s a good girl,” she said to herself 
when she was alone again. “If I do say it that 
shouldn’t, I don’t know of anybody else that has 
as good a daughter as she is to me, and it fright- 
ens me to hear her talking so about her sins. 
Why, she a’ n’t ever done anything much out of 
the way. If she thinks she has so much to be 
forgiven her, what must I be? Well, I’m glad 
she a’ n’t worrying any more. I guess Mrs. 
Morse knew how to make things seem right to 
her, for she ’s a good woman, I do believe, if 
there ever was one. I ’spose Mattie ’s got reli- 
gion, but I don’t see how it can make her much 


PEACE. 


165 

better, though that’s what folks says it always 
does. I wonder what it seems like. Mattie cer- 
tainly looked as if she never felt so glad about 
anything. ’ ’ 

Whatever Mattie was so deeply interested in 
could not but concern the mother who was so de- 
voted to her, and so it happened that in the days 
that followed she often pondered on subjects which 
hitherto she had left unheeded. 


i66 


MRS. morse’s GIRES. 


CHAPTER XX. 

NINA’S DECISION. 

Nina had not forgotten her promise to Mrs. 
Morse on the afternoon of Bertie’s funeral, but, 
like many another, she had put the question away 
from her, to be settled at a more convenient 
time. 

The sense of unrest and dissatisfaction with 
herself and her life that had possessed her for a 
short time after she had looked upon death van- 
ished by slow degrees and left her indifferent and 
happy again; and so, beyond a vague desire to 
please Mrs. Morse by doing as she had wished her 
to, she had no care for her soul’s welfare. 

But the questions her teacher had given her to 
answer aroused her interest again. 

“How I wish I could answer them in a way 
that would please dear Mrs. Morse!” she said to 
herself; and following that wish came a faint 
little flickering desire to know for herself some- 
thing of the peace and joy of which her teacher 
had told her. So faint and feeble was this aspi- 
ration after a better and higher life that it seemed 
as if a breath would extinguish it. There was 


NINA’S DECISION. 167 

nothing in the young girl’s gay and worldly sur- 
roundings to foster such a feeling. If she had 
spoken of it to her mother, she would have been 
told that it was “a foolish, morbid consciousness 
of self.” Her father would have laughed at her 
and called her a fanciful little puss. To mere 
human calculation it would have seemed well 
nigh impossible for the good seed to spring up in 
a soil that was so prepared to choke with its thorns 
the first tender shoots of good. 

But there was an unseen influence at work for 
good far more powerful than any that could be 
exerted against it. Daily, oftentimes almost 
hourly, Mrs. Morse’s earnest prayers ascended in 
behalf of this loved scholar, seeking to obtain a 
blessing for her; and prayer is a lever that can 
raise any burden to the throne of grace. 

So this faint aspiration strengthened hourly 
until it became an earnest desire, a longing after 
God. 

When on Wednesday evening the bell sounded 
its call to the weekly prayer-meeting, Nina aston- 
ished her mother by announcing her intention to 
go; and so strong was her desire that not even her 
mother’s surprise at what she termed “an unreas- 
onable freak” weakened her purpose. 

“ You can’t go by yourself,” her mother said 
conclusively, as if this argument settled the ques- 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


1 68 

tion ; ‘ ‘ it is altogether too dusky for you to go out 
alone. ’ ’ 

‘‘ O mother!” and Nina’s face showed her dis- 
appointment so plainly that her father, catching 
a glimpse of it as he turned the leaves of his even- 
ing newspaper, felt his determination not to go 
out that evening growing weak. 

“Never mind, puss,” he said, laying down 
his paper when he saw the blue eyes growing 
misty with tears. “I’ll see you around to the 
church, and I will come back again that way in 
an hour’s time and bring you home again. Hur- 
ry up and get your hat, or you ’ll be late.” 

Nina’s face grew bright again, and her happy 
smile repaid her father quite as much as her words 
of thanks. 

“Wont you come in too, father?” she asked 
as they reached the church door just as the bell 
ceased. 

“No; I’ve done my duty for one night by 
leaving my slippers and paper to gratify your new 
fancy for prayer-meetings,” her father answered 
with a smile as he left her; and so Nina went in 
alone, little knowing that she had been led there 
to make a decision that night that would affect 
her whole after life. 

She wondered whether it was because of her 
unusual frame of mind that the meeting seemed 


NINA’S DECISION. 1 69 

SO deeply impressive and solemn. Two or three 
times before she had attended this weekly service 
and had yawned wearily through it, each time 
resolving never to come again; but to-night she 
listened eagerly to every word. 

The subject was “The lyove of Christ,” and 
Mr. Morse was moved to even greater earnestness 
than usual as he dwelt upon this great soul-in- 
spiring theme. He pictured in eloquent words 
the infinite, pitying love that brought the Lord 
of glory to this world to suffer and die for his ene- 
mies. Then he told them of the picture where 
the thorn-crowned Saviour knocks patiently at 
the door overgrown with weeds and clinging ivy 
tendrils. He could stand outside and knock, but 
he would not enter the door unless it was opened 
to him. 

“And this is a true picture of our hearts,” he 
went on. “They must be opened to admit the 
Saviour, or, with all his infinite love and com- 
passion, he will not enter them. I fear he has 
waited long years for some hearts to open to Him. 
He has waited in patient love through the heat 
of noonday sun and the dews of night, thinking, 

‘ Some of them may yet hear my voice. ’ Must 
he wait in vain? Must even his long-suffering 
meet with no return? ‘ Ye will not come to me 
that ye might have life.’ Is that his sorrowful 


170 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


cry as lie turns away at last for ever from the 
heart that will not give entrance to its Saviour?” 

Nina had always known in a general way that 
“God so loved the world that he gave his only- 
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him 
should not perish, but have everlasting life;” but 
this evening she listened to it as to a new and 
living truth. Had she been keeping the door of 
her heart fast closed when such an infinitely lov- 
ing Saviour asked to enter ? 

Not all the threatenings or terrors of the law 
could have touched her as deeply as did this pic- 
ture of patient love; and she opened the door of 
her heart gladly to admit the Saviour. 

When Mr. Morse had given out the conclu- 
ding hymn he was moved by a strong impulse to 
say, 

“Dear friends, I feel that there must be some 
here to-night who want to yield to their Saviour 
and accept his matchless love and pardon. Sure- 
ly you cannot grieve him by longer delay when 
even now he is knocking. If there are any pres- 
ent who have taken this new resolve, will they 
make it known to us by rising during the singing 
of the last verse of this hymn, that we may unite 
in earnest prayer for them?” 

It was an unusual request, and notwithstand- 
ing the tender solemnity of the meeting, some 


NINA’S DECISION. 


I7I 

wondered at it. They thought there had not been 
interest enough manifested to justify such a re- 
quest. 

The sweet tones of the organ filled the room 
and the hymn began: 

“ Knocking, knocking, who is there ? 

Waiting, waiting, oh, how fair ! 

’T is a Pilgrim, strange and kingly; 

Never such was seen before : 

Ah, my soul, for such a wonder 
Wilt thou not undo the door?” 

The sweet, pathetic words stirred long-sealed 
springs of feeling in many a heart, and Nina’s 
voice was tremulous as she softly joined in the 
next verse: 

“ But the door is hard to open. 

For the weeds and ivy-vine. 

With their dark and clinging tendrils, 

Ever round the hinges twine.” 

There was no longer any doubt or hesitancy 
in her mind, but even at this supreme moment, 
when her heart was full of new-born love to the 
Saviour, she found it hard to confess him openly. 

If she did not accept Mr. Morse’s invitation to 
make her new desires known by rising, she felt 
that she would be dishonoring her new Master by 
refusing to admit her resolve to serve him; yet 
self held her back with eager arguments. 

‘‘Don’t make yourself unnecessarily conspic- 


172 MRS. morse’s GIRES. 

Uous. It will do just as well to tell Mr. Morse 
afterwards. All these people need not know it.” 

But Nina crushed back these selfish prompt- 
ings bravely, and as the first line of the last verse 
was begun she rose to her feet, trembling with 
her effort, but determined to confess her love for 
Christ. 

As she stood there she forgot the people about 
her, the wondering looks that she might receive, 
and all her heart was filled to overflowing with 
the sweet, glad consciousness that the long-closed 
door had not been opened in vain, but the Saviour 
had entered. 

And she was not alone. Mattie, with a face 
that betokened the peace that filled her heart, rose 
with her. It was not the trial to her that it was 
to Nina, but on the contrary she was glad of the 
opportunity to publicly own her Saviour. She 
was so much more independent in her disposition 
than Nina, who generally looked to some one 
else for guidance, that it cost her no effort to take 
this step, as she supposed, alone, for she could not 
see Nina from her position without turning. 

Then, too, the people were almost all stran- 
gers to Mattie, and she was indifferent to their 
opinion, while Nina dreaded the comment of 
friends and acquaintances with all her sensitive 
nature. 


NINA’S DECISION. 


173 


Very earnest and loving was Mr. Morse’s clos- 
ing prayer as he asked that these young servants 
might have grace to persevere in their new life 
and be continually strengthened in their resolve 
to give themselves to their Saviour. 

One who was present rejoiced in their happi- 
ness with a joy as great as their own. Mrs. 
Morse’s heart sang a glad thanksgiving as she 
realized that two of the precious souls that had 
been committed to her care were safe. 


174 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

OPPOSITION. 

It had not occurred to Nina that her mother 
or father would make the slightest objection to 
her new hope and resolutions, and she looked 
forward joyfully to telling them what she had 
done that evening. 

She saw her father waiting for her by the door 
at the conclusion of the meeting, and as soon as 
she had received a warm hand-clasp from her pas- 
tor, with a few earnest words of encouragement, 
and had returned Mrs. Morse’s warm embrace, 
she went down to where her father was standing 
with so glad an expression on her face that he 
could not help noticing it and silently wondering 
if it could be possible that anything in the prayer- 
meeting had brought it there. 

“ Father dear, I want to tell you something,” 
Nina began half shyly as they started towards 
home. 

“Well, puss, what is it?” her father asked 
kindly, pressing the little gloved hand that rest- 
ed on his arm. 

“I have just begun to love Jesus to-night. 


OPPOSITION. 


175 


father, and I want to thank you so much for 
bringing me to the prayer-meeting. If I had not 
come, I might never have found out what a pre- 
cious Saviour he is. ’ ’ 

There was no reluctance or half-heartedness 
in Nina’s tones. She spoke as joyfully and 
freely of her new love and happiness as if it had 
been some coveted earthly possession she had 
just gained. 

Mr. Maynard started as he listened. He was 
wont to say laughingly that nothing that Nina 
could do would surprise him, he was so used to 
her capricious impulses; but he was genuinely 
surprised at her words. 

Was this his Nina, who to his knowledge had 
never had a serious thought in her life, that was 
talking so earnestly about her love for Jesus? 

In the worldly, irreligious life that he led this 
was a strange language, almost as incomprehen- 
sible as if some one from a foreign land had ut- 
tered it; but it carried him back to days when he 
had listened to his mother’s teachings and be- 
lieved in them. 

Jesus had been a familiar, revered name to him 
in those boyish days, and far away from the king- 
dom as he had strayed since then, he had never 
grown so hardened as to sneer at what his mother 
had held sacred. 


176 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


He was recalled from these thoughts by 
Nina’s disappointed tones. 

“Father, I thought you would be so glad for 
me.” 

“I am, my darling,” he answered tenderly. 
“You made me think of your dear grandmother 
just then. She was a good woman, Nina, and I 
could ask nothing better for you than that your 
life might be like hers. I believe with all my 
heart in such religion as hers was; there was 
nothing insincere or half-hearted in it. I sup- 
pose people now-a-days would call her too strait- 
laced and Puritanical, but that’s the only reli- 
gion I believe in. I have no patience with this 
sham that people put on when they go to church 
and then do as they please all the rest of the 
time. Stick to your colors, whatever you do, 
Nina, or else let the whole thing alone. I have 
seen church members that keep more people out 
of the church by their inconsistencies and shams 
than they could ever get in, and I don’t want 
you to be one of that kind. ’ ’ 

“I hope I wont be,” Nina answered, a sense 
of the responsibilities of a Christian beginning to 
dawn upon her as she listened to her father. 

His sympathy and encouragement had made 
her glad heart still happier, and when she en- 
tered the house she went at once to her mo- 


OPPOSITION. 177 

ther’s room, eager to share her happiness with 
her. 

“Mamma dear,” she said, throwing her arms 
impulsively about her mother’s neck when she 
found her at last up in her room, “I want to 
tell you about the prayer-meeting to-night.” 

But Mrs. Maynard was annoyed at the persis- 
tence with which Nina had begged to go and at 
her father for encouraging her in her wilful whim 
by taking her; so with a coldness that she rarely 
showed towards her daughter, though it was her 
habitual manner with others, she unclasped the 
clinging arms, saying, 

“Don’t, Nina. I am not at all interested in 
the prayer-meeting, and I don’t wish to hear any- 
thing about it. I was surprised at your insisting 
so upon going when you knew what my wishes 
were; now let this be the last of it.” 

For a moment Nina felt chilled and rebuffed; 
but she was too eager to tell her mother what she 
had done to be thus silenced. 

“I want to tell you something about myself, 
then,” she said very gently, still kneeling beside 
her mother. “To-night, when Mr. Morse asked 
those who wanted to give their hearts to Jesus to 
rise, I stood up; and I do love Him, mamma.” 

“Nina Maynard!” 

It would be impossible to give you an idea of 


Mrs. Morse’s Girls. 


12 


178 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

the tone of mingled anger and astonishment in 
which these words were uttered; and Nina, look- 
ing up in dismay, saw that her mother’s face was 
flushed with passion and that she was looking at 
her with a sterner expression than she had ever 
seen her wear. 

“Mamma, don’t look so at me!” Nina cried, 
trying to hide her face on her mother’s shoulder; 
but Mrs. Maynard pushed her away from her so 
decidedly that she was afraid to try to soften her 
resentment by caresses. 

For once in her life Mrs. Maynard was seri- 
ously angry with Nina, and she made no effort to 
conceal her displeasure. Not even the sight of 
Nina’s tears softened her angry mood, and she 
vented her annoyance in a stream of passionate 
reproaches. 

“You might at least have considered it worth 
while to consult your father and me before you 
did such a thing,” she said. 

“ But, mamma, I did not know I was going to 
do it,” Nina pleaded. “I was unhappy about 
myself and I wanted to go to the prayer-meeting; 
and then I never thought you would be anything 
but glad.” • 

“ If you had considered the matter a little, in- 
stead of acting in your usual hasty way, you 
might have known that I should not be glad to 


OPPOSITION. 


179 


see a daughter of mine making herself so con- 
spicuous. I declare I don’t know what to think 
of you, Nina. I am so mortified that I feel as if 
I never cared to enter the doors of that church 
again. What do you suppose people thought of 
you ? They could not surely give you credit for 
the least modesty or delicacy of feeling.” 

Mrs. Maynard entirely forget the innumerable 
times when Nina had made herself far more con- 
spicuous with her mother’s full approval and con- 
sent. 

She had taken part in a concert not a year 
since that had been given for the benefit of the 
church, and during her piano performance she 
had been very markedly conspicuous. But a few 
months before she had taken one of the leading 
parts in an amateur dramatic entertainment, and 
Mrs. Maynard had felt nothing but motherly pride 
at the attention she had attracted by her pretty 
face and good acting. 

But to-night she was shocked and mortified 
beyond expression because her daughter had made 
herself conspicuous by rising in a little group of 
Christians to confess her love for Christ. Yes, 
she was inconsistent in her anger, I grant you; 
but, unfortunately, inconsistency in such matters 
is no unusual thing. 

“Who else, may I ask, had little enough deli- 


l8o MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

cacy to take part in this performance?” Mrs. 
Maynard asked in her most scathing tones, paus- 
ing in her angry pacing up and down the room. 

It was no wonder that Nina felt as if she could 
not answer the question. She knew too well what 
an outburst of scorn and wrath would follow the 
announcement of Mattie’s name, for her mother 
did not share her kindlier feelings towards her 
classmates. She cowered a little as her mother 
paused before her and repeated the question. 

In faltering tones the answer came, “Mattie 
Brown. ’ ’ 

This brought Mrs. Maynard’s wrath to a cli- 
max, and Nina wept bitter tears as she listened to 
the torrent of reproaches. She had often seen 
her mother angry with others and had heard out- 
bursts of passion that had frightened her, but 
never before in all her petted life had such words 
been used to her. 

Two or three times she tried to stay her mo- 
ther’s indignation and make her peace with her 
again, but she was angrily repulsed each time. 

It was with a feeling of relief that she received 
her dismissal to her room for the night, though 
her heart was sore at being refused the good-night 
kiss for which she held up her quivering lips. 

‘ ‘ I am too angry to want even to look at you 
to-night,” Mrs. Maynard said; and so the poor 



Mrs. Morse’s Girls. Taj^e iSi 





OPPOSITION. l8l 

child crept away to her room to sob out her grief 
on her pillow until it was wet with her tears. 

Had she done wrong? she asked herself, so 
beset with grief and anxiety as to forget her new 
happiness. Surely not; and unhappy as she was 
at her mother’s anger, her heart told her that she 
would not undo her evening’s work if she could. 

Down stairs much the same scene had taken 
place between husband and wife. When Mrs. 
Maynard had banished the weeping Nina to her 
room she went down stairs in search of her hus- 
band. He had heard her angry voice, and though 
his sympathy was with Nina, yet he made the 
politic resolve not to take sides openly with either 
his wife or his daughter, if he could avoid it. 

“Do you know what Nina did to-night?” 
Mrs. Maynard asked as she swept into the room 
where he was trying to read. 

“Yes,” he answered briefly, without raising 
his eyes from his paper. 

“ What did you say to her?” she demanded. 

Mr. Maynard fidgeted uneasily in his chair at 
this question, took off his glasses, and wiped them 
carefully before he answered. “Well, my dear, 
I see you are annoyed about it, so I hardly can 
expect you to approve of what I have done. I 
told her I was glad of it and I hoped she would 
stick to her colors.” 


i83 


MRS. MORSELS GIRLS. 


“You did?” 

The indignant emphasis made it very clear to 
Mr. Maynard that Mrs. Maynard did not at all 
approve of the encouragement he had given Nina, 
and he was fully prepared for the curtain lecture 
that followed. 

He rarely asserted himself, and upon most oc- 
casions Mrs. Maynard demanded and obtained her 
own way; now, though he would fain have put in 
a plea for Nina, he found it would be useless and 
unwise to make the attempt; so for the time he 
listened meekly to his wife’s expostulations. 


keeping the faith. 


183 


CHAPTER XXII. 

KEEPING THE FAITH. 

Nina sobbed herself to sleep that night, and 
when she awoke in the morning her first con- 
sciousness was that something had happened. 

In a moment the events of the preceding even- 
ing flashed into her memory. First she remem- 
bered only the joy that had attended her mute 
avowal of her love for her Saviour; but then 
came the remembrance of her mother’s anger and 
reproaches. 

She was only a child, so it is not strange that 
the feeling of her disgrace overclouded the bright- 
ness of her joy. Her head ached with the excite- 
ment and grief of the night before, and so it hap- 
pened that the first day of her new life dawned 
sadly. 

She wondered to herself whether her mother’s 
anger would not be somewhat calmed down after 
her night’s rest, and whether she would not 
really rejoice a little with her at the gladness 
that her last night’s resolution had brought to 
her. 

She would have been dismayed if she had 


184 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

known of her mother’s plan to discourage her in 
her new life. 

Early that morning, before Nina’s friend Flor- 
ence was up, a note from Mrs. Maynard was 
brought to her, and as her eyes glanced over the 
contents a smile of complacent self-satisfaction lit 
up her face. There was nothing that Florence 
more dearly loved than to have her influence over 
others recognized, and Mrs. Maynard had done 
this in a way that gratified her pride exceedingly. 

She told Florence of what she was pleased to 
term Nina’s impulsive folly, and begged her to 
exert her influence over her friend to win her 
away from her new feelings and determination. 

“ I know she will yield to your influence,” the 
mother wrote. ‘ ‘ If you are firm in opposing her 
I am sure she will not persist in conduct so con- 
trary to all our wishes. I have expressed myself 
very decidedly in the matter, though her father, I 
regret to say, encouraged her. I will now leave 
her to you, for her affection and admiration for 
you are so great that you can easily manage her.” 

Nothing could have delighted Forence more 
than this concession to her power, and sitting 
down to her desk she wrote a graceful note to 
Mrs. Maynard, promising to do all she could to 
carry out that lady’s wishes. 

To do her justice, Mrs. Maynard knew nothing 


KEEPING THE FAITH. 185 

of the treasure of which she sought to deprive 
Nina. For religion, as embodied in church-going 
and a reasonable attention to all outward forms, 
she had great respect, and considered that she 
had always done her duty by taking a pew and 
occupying it once a day. 

But for religion that becomes a vital part of 
life itself, and that finds expression in Christlike 
words and deeds, she had a profound contempt; 
and strange as it may seem, she really considered 
that it was her duty to check Nina in any such 
impulse. 

Florence determined not to delay in using the 
influence which was to mould Nina to her mo- 
ther’s will, and glancing at the clock saw that 
she would have time to make a short call before 
school began. 

Nina, heavy-eyed and languid, had just fin- 
ished her breakfast when Florence was ushered 
in, and she sprang up with a cry of welcome as 
she saw her friend. 

Her father had gone down town to business 
before she was awake, and though her mother had 
not made any allusion to the previous evening, 
her manner assured Nina that she was still under 
her displeasure; so she felt lonely and miserable. 

Florence returned her greeting with more cor- 
diality than she usually showed, for she knew 


i86 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


Nina well enough to be aware that she could be 
more easily led by affection than by remonstrance. 

“Have you finished breakfast?” she asked. 
‘ ‘ I came over to have a little talk with you. 
Suppose we go up to your room.” 

Nina gladly assented, and with her arm about 
her friend they went up stairs. 

“ I have something to talk to you about too,” 
Nina said as they entered the room and seated 
themselves on the pretty little sofa. 

But Florence knew what Nina’s subject for 
conversation was, and she preferred to approach 
the matter from her own standpoint. 

“ I am going to scold you a little bit,” she be- 
gan kindly as Nina rested her aching head loving- 
ly on her shoulder and caressed her friend’s hand. 
‘ ‘ Do you know, I have heard already of what a 
crazy thing you did last night ? I think I shall 
have to take care of you after this and go with 
you when you go to prayer-meetings, so as to keep 
you from yielding to your impulses. You are 
such a child, Nina;” and Florence looked down 
pityingly on her friend from the heights of perfect 
self-satisfaction. 

Certainly no one ever had an opportunity to 
accuse her of impulse, and she prided herself on 
the perfect self-control and calculating foresight, 
so unnatural in one of her age, which made her 


keeping the faith. 187 

infinitely less lovable than Nina, with all the 
mistakes into which her hastiness sometimes led 
her. 

Nina’s cheeks flushed crimson as she listened 
to her friend’s words, and it was a proof how 
strong a hold her new love had taken upon her 
heart that no thought of denying it, or even ex- 
cusing herself for it, entered her mind. 

“I wish you would always go with me, Flor- 
ence,” she answered after a brief pause. “Not 
that I want you to keep me from doing what I 
believe to be right, but so that you may know for 
yourself what happiness I have found.” 

Florence was surprised at Nina’s answer. It 
was almost an unheard of thing for her to persist 
in any opinion that differed from Florence’s, and 
either silence or apologetic words had been all 
that she had expected. 

“ Nina, I quite admire your effort to persist in 
a step you took when you were too excited to 
know what you were doing,” she said. “But 
still it would please me much more to hear you 
admit that it was a mistake on your part — we all 
make mistakes sometimes, you know — and that 
you mean to undo it as much as possible. I sup- 
pose everybody in church has heard some version 
of the story, but we can easily explain to them 
how natural it is for you to act on impulse, and 


l88 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

they will not think any more about it, unless, in- 
deed, you should give them fresh occasion.” 

Blunt, independent Mattie would have laughed 
at the idea of caring for other people’s opinions in 
a matter which concerned herself only, but Nina 
shrank like a sensitive plant from a rough touch 
as she listened to the apparently kind words which 
Florence well knew would wound her sorely. 

There was nothing that Nina dreaded more 
than to be the subject of comment and criticism, 
and though her innate good sense told her that 
she had done nothing to outrage the most scrupu- 
lous notions of propriety, yet the freely-expressed 
opinions of' her mother and Florence were not 
without their influence. 

It was very hard, perhaps the hardest thing 
she had ever done in her life, to uphold her con- 
duct and justify herself. It would have been hard 
in any case, but her love and admiration for Flor- 
ence made her task a doubly difflcult one. Still 
the same impulse that had urged her to her feet 
the evening before prompted her to speak bravely 
now. 

“It was not a mistake, Florence,” she said 
quietly. “I am very glad that I went to the 
prayer-meeting last night and that I was influ- 
enced to do as I did. I am sure I shall be glad of 
it all my life. The only thing I am sorry for is 


keeping the faith. 189 

that mamma is so angry with me about it, and I 
know you think as she does — ’ ’ 

“You know that I am very fond of you, 
Nina,’^ interposed Florence, “but I cannot help 
fully agreeing with your mother that last night 
your impulse ran away with your good sense and 
led you to do a very conspicuous and unladylike 
thing. ‘ When you have time to think about it, 
you will see the matter in that light yourself. 
Why, I should think the very fact that such a girl 
as that Mattie Brown was the only one who joined 
you would be sufficient to show you your mistake. 
No one could uphold you in such a thing, and I 
am disappointed in you, I must confess.” 

This latter remark Florence had made several 
times with great effect when some of her submis- 
sive admirers at school became refractory; but 
this time it failed to have its usual result. 

“I am disappointed too,” Nina said sadly as 
two great tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. 
“I thought you would sympathize with me and 
be my friend more than ever just now, but you 
are only trying to make things harder for me. 
Florence, if for one little minute you could know 
what a happy, perfectly contented feeling it gives 
you to love Jesus, I know you would love him 
always, even if every one else you love turned 
away from you for it. You know how I love you. 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


190 

dear; but though I can’t bear to disappoint you in 
any way, I must tell you that I shall never give 
up my love for Jesus to please even you. Why, I 
couldn’t if I wanted to,” she added earnestly, as 
she realized that it was a part of herself now. 

The clock on the mantel chimed the quarter- 
hour and Florence glanced at it. She withdrew 
herself coldly from Nina and gathered up her 
books. 

“Don’t go yet,” Nina pleaded, hoping that 
she could win Florence to sympathy with her. 

“I certainly am not enjoying this conversation 
enough to stay longer,” Florence answered, “and 
while you are in this frame of mind I cannot hope 
that you will listen to reason. Nina, you have 
often professed to love me; now I will put your 
aiSection to a test. If you love me, give up these 
foolish notions. If you will not, I shall know 
that you do not care anything for me or my 
friendship. Now decide, once for all.” 

Not a hard matter to decide between the selfish 
affection of such a friend and the peace of Jesus; 
and yet Nina’s love for her friend was so strong 
that, while she had no thought of deciding in any 
way but the one she had chosen the night before, 
yet it cost her a heartache to say the words that 
would alienate her friend from her. 

“I have decided once for all,” she answered 


keeping the faith. 


I9I 

falteringly, yet with a decision in her trembling 
voice that Florence could not help feeling would 
resist all her boasted influence. 

‘ ‘ Then our friendship is at an end, ’ ’ she said 
haughtily, and gathering up her books, she swept 
out of the room without vouchsaflng another word 
or look in Nina’s direction. 


192 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

HELP. 

When Nina found herself alone and heard the 
hall door close after her visitor she threw herself 
upon the bed in a burst of grief. How could she 
bear estrangement from Florence, her dearest 
friend? and she knew that Florence would not 
relent unless she would promise to give up what- 
ever displeased her. 

“Not even for her sake could I give this up,” 
she whispered to herself, though it seemed to her 
as if it had estranged all her friends from her. 

Her new path looked very rough just then, 
and she would have been surprised if she had 
been told how quickly all the difficulties which 
loomed up before her would vanish. 

She was too miserable to care to go to school, 
and as her attendance had always been regulated 
by her own inclinations, she felt at liberty to stay 
at home and rest her throbbing head on the cool 
pillow. 

Mrs. Maynard had gone out on a shopping ex- 
pedition, so Nina was left alone with her thoughts, 
as her mother had intended that she should be. 


HEI.P. 


193 


hoping that she would find her disgrace unbear- 
able and become as yielding as she had hitherto 
been. 

About eleven o’clock Nina heard her father’s 
step in the hall and rushed eagerly down to meet 
him, forgetting her headache and loneliness in 
her delighted surprise. 

“Why, what’s the matter with my little girl?” 
he asked lovingly as he noticed her dark-ringed 
eyes and flushed cheeks. 

“My head aches,” Nina answered, nestling 
her head on his shoulder as he sat down in a large 
easy-chair and drew her down upon his knee. 

“O father, I’m so glad you are not angry 
with me too!” she went on with a little quiver in 
her voice as he caressed the golden head with a 
tender, fatherly touch. 

“Why, who is angry at you?” he asked. 

“Mamma and Florence,” she answered sadly. 

“ Don’t you mind any of that girl’s nonsense,” 
said Mr. Maynard with disrespect that would have 
shocked Florence if she could have heard his 
slighting mention. “She isn’t worth minding; 
and as to your mother — well, she was put out last 
night, but she’ll soon be over it, I ’ll engage. Did 
she say anything to you about it this morning?” 

“No; but she wasn’t like herself,” Nina an- 
swered. 


51 r«. 5I()r8e'8 Girls. 


3 


194 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


“Well, she wont mention it again, and she’ll 
be all right in a day or two,” said Mr. Maynard 
with a mental resolution to verify his words by an 
interview with his wife, in which he proposed to 
tell her that for once his wishes should be re- 
spected and Nina should not be interfered with in 
any way. 

“Suppose I turn preacher for a little while 
and preach you a sermon, Nina?” he went on 
presently. “I’m no Christian myself, girlie, but 
I know something of the kind of life a Christian 
has to lead, and I can tell you it’s not an easy 
one by any means. You haven’t chosen some- 
thing that is going to bring, you nothing but hap- 
piness and sunshine; you’ve got to meet a good 
many trials of one kind or another and make a 
good many sacrifices; but if you think you’ve got 
something that more than makes up for all these 
troubles it brings with it, why, then take them 
bravely and don’t let them make you miserable. 
I ’ll help you all I can, darling, and your life will 
soon prove to others how much your religion is 
worth. No one that knew your grandmother 
could doubt the worth of her religion, for she just 
lived it in her every-day life; but there are not 
many like her, or this would be a better world.” 

This was strange advice to come from the lips 
of a man who often professed his indifference to 


HELP. 


195 


religion and his ability to live without it; but, 
inconsistent as it seemed, he was not willing that 
Nina’s life should resemble his in this respect; 
and now that she had taken the first step in a new 
and better life, he was anxious to encourage her 
in it, and if possible to remove all obstacles from 
her path. 

Mrs. Maynard’s step was heard at the door, 
and Mr. Maynard said to Nina as he rose, 

“You run up stairs a little while, Nina; I 
want to have a talk with your mother.” 

Nina was glad to escape, and ran lightly up 
stairs to her room, feeling much happier than she 
had done before her father’s return. 

She wondered what had brought him home 
from his business at that unusual hour in the 
morning, but she little suspected that his uneasi- 
ness about her had made him leave his desk and 
come up town to see whether she stood in need of 
any comfort or encouragement. 

“The child isn’t used to being opposed,” he 
said to himself, “and likely her mother has been 
pretty hard on her. If she is still determined to 
make Nina give up, I ’ll interfere myself and put 
a stop to it. The child shall have her way in 
this. ’ ’ 

Accordingly, when Mrs. Maynard entered the 
parlor she was surprised to find her husband there 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


196 

awaiting her with the air of determination that 
always meant that he intended to have his own 
way. 

A long altercation ensued as soon as he 
broached the subject, but it resulted in her final 
promise not to discourage Nina in any way, nor 
to interfere with her wishes even if she should 
choose to join the church. 

Realizing that her husband was in earnest, 
Mrs. ' Maynard made a virtue of necessity, and 
promised to say no more; so Mr. Maynard took 
the next car down town, feeling assured that he 
had lightened Nina’s troubles and made things 
as easy as he could for her. 

A few moments spent in quiet reflection con- 
vinced Mrs. Maynard that she had been unneces- 
sarily severe with Nina, and she acknowledged 
to herself that she could probably have accom- 
plished her object far more effectually by kindness. 

If Nina was rightly managed there need be no 
reason why her new ideas should make her pecu- 
liar and straitlaced. Indeed, she recalled several 
brilliant society ladies whose life she would be 
only too glad to have Nina imitate, who were 
church members in good and regular standing. 
They had discovered the very minimum of Chris- 
tian living, but that was what excited Mrs. May- 
nard’s admiration. 


HELP. 


197 


As she started up stairs she heard Nina gently 
close her door, and it brought a swift pang of re- 
morse for her anger of the night before when she 
found that her dearly loved daughter shrank from 
her. 

“ Nina !” she called as she reached the top of 
the stairs, and something in the tones of her voice 
made Nina rush to her and throw her arms about 
her in a long, clinging embrace. 

No allusion was made to Mrs. Maynard’s 
words of the evening before, but a tacit reconcil- 
iation took place, and Nina’s loving heart grew 
light again. Only the thought of Florence’s an- 
ger left a shadow, but Nina clung to the hope 
that she might perhaps change her mind. 

“If I had only done something wrong or in- 
jured her in any way, I believe I should be glad,” 
thought Nina, “for then I could ask her to for- 
give me; but I haven’t done anything wrong, so 
I can’t do anything except beg her to make up.” 

Mattie would have been surprised if she had 
been told that her Christian life had begun far 
more joyously than Nina’s. She could never as- 
sociate sorrow or disappointment of any kind with 
one who seemed to have everything to make her 
happy that heart could wish or love devise ; and 
though the old feeling of bitter jealousy had gone, 
yet she could not help envying Nina a little some- 


198 MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 

times when her own busy life was unusually try- 
ing. 

True, Mattie had no home influence to help 
her in the Christian life she had undertaken, but 
then no hindrances were put in her way. Her 
father and mother rejoiced because she did in her 
new hope, and they were anxious to help her in 
any way they could; so she enjoyed a sympathy 
that Nina lacked. 

Mrs. Morse had foreseen that Mattie, with her 
sturdy independence of character and the self-as- 
sertion that made her a leader among her com- 
panions, would make an earnest and useful Chris- 
tian ; and far from feeling that her work with 
Mattie was all accomplished, she looked forward 
to training her to be an efficient and consecrated 
Christian worker. 

She could easily imagine the trials that would 
beset Nina, for the slight acquaintance she already 
had with Mrs. Maynard had been quite sufficient 
to let her know that that lady looked with little 
favor upon such a step as her daughter had taken, 
and would doubtless oppose her, while Florence’s 
influence would not be for the right. 

All the more earnestly, because so convinced 
that no human love could make an entrance into 
that hardened heart, completely cased in pride 
and selfishness, did Mrs. Morse pray for this 


HELP. 199 

scholar that God might soften her by his love 
and subdue her proud will to his own. 

She was very hopeful of Etta and Nora now, 
for she knew that Mattie’s influence over them 
for good would be strong and constant. 

Lois, too, was “not far from the kingdom;” 
for her heart, opened at last to her teacher, seemed 
to have unsounded depths of love and unselfish- 
ness, and her rebellious spirit had yielded to one 
of submission, though her heart still ached with 
loneliness and each home association was fraught 
with memories of Bertie that drew tears many a 
time from both mother and daughter. 


200 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A GLAD DISCOVERY. 

Mrs. Morse was scarcely surprised when 
Florence failed to make her appearance on the 
succeeding Sabbath, and when she called to in- 
quire whether illness had detained her from her 
accustomed seat, Florence told her that she had 
quite determined to leave Sunday-school. 

For some time she had shown a persistent lack 
of interest that had greatly tried Mrs. Morse, who 
did everything in her power to make the lessons 
attractive; so the announcement of her determi- 
nation to leave the class was scarcely a surprise, 
though it was a sorrow, to her teacher. 

If Mrs. Morse had considered only her own 
comfort and the pleasure of the other members of 
the class, her feeling would have been one of un- 
mixed satisfaction, for Florence had been a sore 
trial in many ways; but it was a grief to her to 
see part of her work pass from her hands unfin- 
ished, even though the failure had not been due 
to neglect or carelessness on her part. 

Her affectionate remonstrances were of no avail 
to shake Florence’s determination; so for a time 


A GI,AD DISCOVERY. . 201 

at least she knew she must be content to let her 
go away from any influence for good that she 
might exert over her. 

It was a great comfort to remember that, after 
all, the most powerful agency for good was still 
left to her. She could pray even more earnestly 
than in the past that God’s Spirit would strive 
with this girl and move her proud heart with a 
sense of his love. 

“I see Mrs. Morse has lost one of her girls,” 
some of the teachers remarked as they noticed the 
vacant chair. 

But Mrs. Morse still considered the absent one 
among the number of “her girls,” as she lovingly 
termed them, and her faith that her prayers for 
Florence’s salvation would be answered in God’s 
own time was sure and strong. 

Mrs. Maynard regretted that she had asked 
Florence to use her influence with Nina when 
she saw how much unhappiness the estrangement 
between the two friends was causing Nina. 

It did not seem possible to Mrs. Maynard that 
Florence could become so seriously offended that 
she would persistently refuse to renew her friend- 
ship with Nina, and when she realized that this 
was actually the case she was annoyed to think 
her note had been the cause of the separation. 

She tried in vain to persuade Nina to treat 


202 MRS. morse’s GIRLS. 

Florence’s anger with indifference, and to become 
offended in her turn at the persistence with which 
Florence declined all overtures at reconciliation ; 
but she was unsuccessful in her efforts. 

Nina was too loyal to her friend to hear a word 
spok-en against her, and all she would admit was 
that Florence did not understand her, but would 
do so some day. 

Her first grief at the estrangement, which had 
so distressed her mother, wore away naturally in 
the course of time. Though she often longed for 
the day to come when the friendship should be 
resumed, she was content to wait patiently for it; 
and her loving heart expended itself in earnest 
prayer that Florence too might soon learn the 
blessedness of that peace which she had wanted 
Nina to give up. 

Secure as Florence thought herself from all re- 
ligious influence, she was being insensibly drawn 
by the silken cords of loving prayer nearer to the 
kingdom. 

Lois and her mother had become such regular 
attendants at the weekly prayer-meeting since 
Bertie’s death that when Mrs. Morse noticed their 
absence on the Wednesday evening on which 
Nina and Mattie had confessed their new love, 
she feared that sickness had detained them. 

Calling the next day to inquire, she found 


A GLAD DISCOVERY. 203 

that her surmise had been correct. Mrs. Cramer 
was suffering severely with the neuralgia to which 
she was subject, and Lois was caring for her. The 
sufferer had just dropped into a quiet sleep when 
Mrs. Morse came, so she had an opportunity for a 
little conversation with Lois. The young girl 
was delighted at the prospect of a talk with her 
loved teacher, and almost immediately broached 
of her own accord the subject which Mrs. Morse 
had intended to bring up. 

Will you think it is a very strange thing to 
say, Mrs. Morse,” she asked, “ if I tell you that I 
do not know how to answer the first of the ques- 
tions you gave me last Sunday ? I do not know 
whether I am a Christian or not. Sometimes I 
think I am, and then I am afraid that I am not.” 

“Why do you think you are one ?” Mrs. Morse 
asked. 

“Because all my bitter, angry feelings have 
gone away out of my heart, and I know that I love 
Jesus. If I had to give darling Bertie up over 
again I could do it willingly now, hard as it would 
be to part with him ; and I know it is because I 
love Jesus more than any one else, for only for 
him could I give up Bertie. Then I have the 
feeling that he has forgiven all my sins and that 
I belong to him; I can’t explain it exactly, but I 
feel it in my heart.” 


204 


MRS. MORSK’S GIRLS. 


“Then, dear Lois, with these feelings why- 
are you not sure that you are a Christian ?’ ’ Mrs. 
Morse asked. 

“Just because I don’t know when these feel- 
ings first came to me. I never had any time of 
being greatly troubled about my sins, and I know 
I ought to have had, for I was very wicked for a 
long time after father died; and when Bertie too 
went away I felt that I could never love God or 
think him anything but cruel and unjust. I 
have heard how miserable people were for days 
and weeks sometimes before they became Chris- 
tians; and surely I cannot be one, when I had so 
much to repent of and yet have never had any 
time of great sorrow and perplexity. Yet I do 
not know what to do. I feel that Jesus has for- 
given me, and so I cannot be in distress over my 
sins. I am troubled only because I do not know 
whether I am a Christian or not.” 

“You need not be troubled about that any 
longer, my dear child,” Mrs. Morse answered 
gladly as she saw the look of peace on the face 
which had once been so unhappy and sullen. 
“You are a Christian already.” 

Lois’ face lit up with a sudden joy at this assu- 
rance. “ Oh, can that really be true when I have 
had no experience or time of trouble?” she asked 
eagerly. 


A GLAD DISCOVERY. 


205 


“God has many different ways of dea^ling with 
his children, lyois,” Mrs. Morse replied. “He 
does not bring them all into his kingdom in the 
same way. Ships do not always pass through 
terrible storms before they gain their harbor. 
Sometimes they sail quietly and peacefully into 
their haven without even a threatening cloud to 
speak of danger or possible shipwreck. Again, a 
vessel is almost wrecked with fierce winds and 
dashing waves, and barely makes harbor without 
being lost. But the two vessels anchor side by 
side in their peaceful refuge at last; and do you 
think any one would say that one ship was not as 
safely harbored as the other because it had not 
passed through a storm to reach that shelter? 
You need not fear that you are not a Christian, 
dear, because you have found a safe harbor with- 
out passing first through a tempest.” 

“ Thank you,” Tois whispered as she listened 
to her teacher’s assurance. “ It seemed to me as 
if I was hoping for too much when I believed 
that I might call myself a Christian without 
knowing the time when I came to Christ. Dear 
Mrs. Morse, I owe it all to you. Your love first 
touched my heart; and when I remembered how 
loving and kind you were to me when I was so 
unkind in return, somehow it made me think of 
God’s love. I can’t thank you; I can’t even tell 


2o6 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


you how I love you for all you have been to me; 
but if you could look into my heart I know you 
would be satisfied. ’ ’ 

“I am more than satisfied now, dear I^ois,” 
Mrs. Morse answered as she returned the loving 
embrace which was a rare thing for I^ois to proffer 
even to those she loved best. 

Her heart was full of rejoicing as she went 
home a little later. She had labored in this cor- 
ner of the Master’s vineyard but a few months, 
barely a year, and yet he was graciously blessing 
her work for him and vouchsafing a bountiful 
harvest 


THE COMMUNION SEASON. 


207 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE COMMUNION SEASON. 

The communion season was drawing near, 
and Mrs. Morse was rejoiced when she found that 
each of the three girls was not only willing, but 
anxious, to publicly profess her allegiance to her 
new Master. 

She had been somewhat disappointed at find- 
ing that neither Etta nor Nora had any serious 
impressions, but were as indifferent and uncon- 
cerned as if three of their classmates had not set- 
tled the great question of their lives. 

It was wonderful to note the change in the 
feelings of the three girls towards each other when 
they found that they were united in the bond of 
love to Christ. Notwithstanding the great differ- 
ence in their positions in life and in their tastes 
and inclinations, they became real friends, loving 
'^nh other because they had fellowship with one 
another in the peace and pardon of God. 

Lois forgot that she had looked down upon 
Mattie as being common and uneducated, and 
had despised Nina equally as being frivolous and 
conceited; Nina had found that there was much 


2o8 MRS. morse’s GIRES. 

to admire in both of the girls she had formerly 
disdained; while warm-hearted Mattie no longer 
remembered the causes that had provoked her 
former hostility, but openly loved and admired 
both Nina and Lois without a trace of jealousy. 

Intimate associates the three girls would never 
be; there were too great differences in their tastes 
and surroundings; but friends, loving and helpful, 
they were and always would be. 

Nina had expected to meet with opposition 
from her mother when she broached the subject of 
uniting herself with the church; but her father 
had paved the way for her, and Mrs. Maynard 
was so well aware that it would be useless to com- 
bat what Mr. Maynard encouraged that though 
her consent was coldly given, it was not with- 
held. 

When Mr. Morse had called upon her to tell 
her of his pleasure in welcoming Nina to the num- 
ber of those who had found Christ, he soon learned 
that she looked upon it as a matter for regret and 
would have prevented it if it had been possible; 
and he wondered sadly how a mother’s heart could 
feel anything but joy at her child’s eternal safety. 

Nina was disappointed when she found that no 
sympathy was to be won from her mother. She 
loved her so dearly that it was a hard trial to real- 
ize that on one subject, dear to Nina beyond all 


THE COMMUNION SEASON. 209 

else, an impassable barrier existed between them, 
and she could not break it down. 

Nina would willingly have given up her new 
hope had it been anything less precious, rather 
than have persisted in what displeased her mo- 
ther. Young as she was, she realised that she 
must make religion attractive by her life and 
convince her mother that it had not robbed her 
of her daughter, but made the tie between them 
more tender and indissoluble. 

Patiently and persistently the young girl set 
herself to work to weed out the faults which had 
become habitual. If her disposition had not nat- 
urally been an unusually loving and unselfish 
one, she would have been utterly ruined by the 
indulgence which had always been shown her. 
As it was, she was shocked when she began a 
rigid course of self-examination, and found how 
her own pleasure had been gratified at any ex- 
pense to others and how little of self-denial 
there had been in her life. 

Mrs. Maynard could not but respect Nina’s 
new determination when she saw the change’ 
that was slowly but steadily manifesting itself 
in her life. The self-will that had always been 
one of her strongest characteristics was ex- 
changed for a gentle submission to her parents’ 
wishes, and the fitful flashes of temper that had 
14 


Mrs. Jlorse’s Girls. 


210 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


formerly manifested themselves at the refusal of 
anything she had set her heart upon became 
altogether things of the past. 

Her father watched her with keen eyes and 
rejoiced inwardly at every victory she gained and 
at every evidence that she was persevering in her 
Christian life, and to him she went for sympathy. 

He went to church with her on the Sunday 
which marked the public commencement of her 
new life; but Mrs. Maynard refused to counte- 
nance Nina by her presence. She did not allege 
that as a reason for declining to go, but none the 
less Nina understood her motive. 

“ Mamma, I want you to help me and be glad 
for me,” she cried impulsively, as just before 
church-time she went into the room where her 
mother was seated in a low rocker, apparently 
absorbed in the last novel; and the young girl 
threw her arms about her mother’s neck in a 
more loving caress than usual. 

“I cannot, Nina,” was the quiet answer; but 
the kiss which shortly followed the words com^ 
forted Nina somewhat. 

Mattie’s father and mother were there, begin- 
ning to realize that this new resolve of Mattie’s 
to become a Christian was no mere fancy, but 
something very real and earnest. And Lois’ 
mother sat beside her in the pew, the loving 


THE COMMUNION SEASON. 


2II 


clasp with which she held the hand that had 
been slipped into her own at the beginning of 
the service assuring her daughter of her warm 
sympathy. 

A day of solemn rejoicing it was, not only to 
those who for the first time sat down at the 
Master’s table as his children, but also to those 
who had been the human instruments of bring- 
ing the wandering souls back to their Father’s 
house. There were others besides Nina, Tois, 
and Mattie who had passed from death to life in 
the last few weeks and now united themselves 
with God’s people, but these three young lives, 
consecrated in their dawning with all their grand 
possibilities of usefulness, were a strong accession 
ii; themselves to the church. 

The service was solemn and impressive, and 
there was a look of earnestness upon the girlish 
faces that showed they fully realized what they 
were doing when they promised, freely, unre- 
servedly, and intelligently, to give themselves 
for the Master’s use. 

Etta and Nora were there, awed and solem- 
nized as they saw Mattie entering into a new life 
of which they knew nothing. She had told them 
of her changed feelings and of the happiness they 
brought her; but her words were almost as un- 
intelligible to them as if they had been spoken 


213 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

ill a foreign language, and they could not under- 
stand her. 

Of one thing they were convinced, however: 
that this change of heart that Mrs. Morse had so 
often talked about was something that was pos- 
sible for any one; for had not Mattie been one 
of themselves, interested in the same things in 
which they were interested? and now she had 
passed away from them into a world of new de- 
sires and hopes and aims. 

“Somehow I feel as if we’d lost Mattie,” 
Etta said to Nora after church. “I feel as if 
she had been buried or something. ’ ’ 

“She might as well have been,” Nora re- 
sponded gloomily. ‘ ‘ She wont care about any- 
thing now but going to church and prayer-meet- 
ings; and she wont be full of fun and ready for 
a frolic as she used to be. She wont care about 
us any more, so we needn’t expect her to have 
anything to do with us.” 

If Mattie had taken the veil and gone into a 
convent to immure herself for the rest of her life, 
the girls could hardly have been more fully con- 
vinced that they had irrevocably lost their friend. 

But they were destined to be agreeably dis- 
appointed in their gloomy anticipations. Mrs. 
Morse had carefully explained to Mattie the duty 
of being a cheerful Christian, winning others to 


THE COMMUNION SEASON. 213 

Christ by proving to all the world that his yoke 
indeed is easy and his burden light: that the best 
happiness is that which is not marred by sin. 

Why, indeed, should a Christian be depressed 
or dejected, when he is bidden to cast all his 
cares upon the great Burden-bearer, the little 
petty every-day trials as well as great sorrows, 
and when “Rejoice in the I^ord alway” is a 
command to his followers ? 


214 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

MATTIE’S VICTORY. 

Day after day Mattie went steadily forward 
in the Christian life she had undertaken, failing 
often, as we all do, but trying to let each fail- 
ure incite her to fresh effort. 

For a little time Etta and Nora held them- 
selves shyly aloof from her; and her companions 
at the store, when they heard that Mattie had, as 
they expressed it, “got religion,” watched her 
curiously to see what difference it would make 
in her. 

It was not a very noticeable change, for Mat- 
tie was as light-hearted and imperturbably good- 
natured as she had been in the past; she was just 
as ready to help a tired or sick friend by taking 
upon herself some of the others’ work, and just 
as ready to enjoy any of the little jokes that 
passed between the girls. 

All this she had formerly been, but now she 
had a better and higher motive running like a 
silver thread through each day’s round of duties. 
She was to glorify God by her life, and so all 
that was selfish and unlovely must be renounced ; 


MATTIE’S VICTORY. 


215 


and the little kindly acts she had been accus- 
tomed to do merely from generous impulses be- 
came new and sweet service for the Master when 
she remembered “ Bear ye one another’s burdens, 
and so fulfil the law of Christ.” 

Her independence had often led her into 
saying somewhat brusque and unkind things to 
those whose opinions differed from her own, 
and the habit was too strong to be readily over- 
come. Now and then a hasty speech would es- 
cape her; but as soon as she saw that she had 
wounded any one’s feelings she atoned as far as 
she could for her hastiness by a frank apology. 

As a general thing Mattie was very popular 
among her companions at the store; but, as is 
usually the case, there were some who envied her 
the popularity which they could not win, and 
they did not take any trouble to conceal their 
dislike and envy. 

One of these, Esther Reade, had done all that 
she could to annoy Mattie, and between the two 
girls open hostility had long been pronounced. 
Mattie had not been slow to retaliate when she 
considered herself injured, and she had rather 
prided herself upon being able to “pay off” 
Esther for every unkindness. They were en- 
gaged at the same counter, unfortunately, so they 
had ample opportunity to carry on their quarrel. 


2i6 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


wliicli might have died a natural death if they 
had been farther apart. 

On the Monday morning after Mattie had 
united with the church she was conscious of an 
unusual reluctance to go to work. She felt at 
peace with all the world, and at a safe distance 
from Esther she could be in charity with her; but 
she had an uncomfortable presentiment that as 
soon as they came in contact all her angry feelings 
would come to life again. 

She armed herself for the day’s warfare by 
earnest prayer that she might not bring reproach 
upon her Master, and went to the store fully de- 
termined to bear all things patiently for his dear 
sake. 

The first few hours passed away without any 
provocation. There was an unusual rush of cus- 
tomers for Monday morning, owing to the an- 
nouncement of bargains in ribbons, and the young 
saleswomen had their hands full in waiting upon 
the impatient crowd; but towards noon there was 
a lull in business and the girls had time to chat 
together and talk over their Sunday’s occupations. 

“Did you know Mattie Brown joined the 
church yesterday morning?” asked a young girl 
who stood beside Esther Reade; and Mattie’s 
quick ear, attracted by the mention of her name, 
caught the low remark. 


MATTIE’S VICTORY. 


217 


“ I hate these deceitful people who are always 
trying to make themselves out better than any 
one else,” was Esther’s scornful answer. “ I sup- 
pose^she’ll lord it over us more than ever now, 
or at any rate she will try to. A nice church 
member she is, when she flies up and gets so mad 
at the least little thing! Don’t you remember 
how mad she got and how awful she talked to 
me one day about that ribbon that was marked 
wrong ?’ ’ 

“Maybe she’s changed since then,” suggested 
her companion. “You know that was a good 
while ago, Esther, and you were aggravating 
yourself that time.” 

“I don’t care if I was,” Esther answered as 
she smoothed some blue ribbon out and thought 
how becoming that particular shade was to her 
fair complexion. “ She need n’t set up to be bet- 
ter than the rest of us by joining the church 
though. ’ ’ 

Mattie had heard every unkind word as plainly 
as if she had stood beside the speaker, and in an 
instant the old passionate temper that she had 
thought was under her control blazed up furious- 
ly. Her eyes flashed ominously and her cheeks 
grew scarlet as the hot, angry blood rushed to her 
head. 

“Surely I haven’t got to let Esther say such 


2i8 , MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

hateful things and never say a word back,” she 
thought; and she knew that in a verbal conflict 
she always came off victor. She must retaliate, 
and she had turned towards Esther to speak when 
she saw that the eyes of one of the girls beside 
her were fixed upon her, watching her curiously. 

Just then a nobler and better impulse came to 
her. Here was a golden opportunity to show that 
she was in earnest. The old Mattie might have 
taken her own part and said sharp, bitter things 
to Esther, but the new Mattie, whose heart was 
filled with God’s love, surely must not, no matter 
how great the provocation. 

She bent her head low for a moment over a 
basket of ribbons, while unseen, unheard, by any 
but her Father in heaven, an appealing cry for 
help and strength went up from her heart. 

Esther was evidently bent upon provoking her 
into a quarrel, for just then she made a still more 
unkind remark. But it glanced from Mattie as 
harmlessly as an arrow is turned aside by a shield. 

The girls were all watching her; they knew 
how she would have resented these speeches but 
a short time ago; how would she treat them now? 

They had not long to wait, for Mattie looked 
up as the last words fell upon her ears, and in a 
quiet voice that was free from anger, nay, more, 
that even was pleasant and friendly, said. 


MATTIE’S VICTORY. 


219 


“Miss Reade, I can’t help hearing what you 
are saying, and I want to tell you something. I 
did not join the church yesterday because I 
thought I was better than any one else, but be- 
cause I had found out how wicked I was and how 
much I needed help to do better. I am just be- 
ginning to live a Christian life, and I am afraid I 
shall often do things that a Christian ought not to 
do; but it will not be because I am not in earnest. 
I’m sorry for my part in all our quarrels, and if 
you will be friends with me I hope I wont do or 
say anything ugly again;” and she moved towards 
Esther with an appealing look on her face. 

Much as she had heretofore disliked the girl, 
she would have been heartily glad just now to be 
reconciled to her, and she hoped Esther would not 
refuse to respond to her advances. 

But Esther was provoked at the failure of her 
efforts to engage Mattie in a dispute and took no 
notice of her last remark, only saying as she 
turned her back, “Listeners never hear good of 
themselves, you know. If you hadn’t been lis- 
tening to what wasn’t intended for your ears, you 
would n’t have heard what I was saying.” 

The dangerous light flashed up again in Mat- 
tie’s black eyes for a moment as her words met 
with such a contemptuous rejoinder. It had been 
hard to bring herself to make this explanation, 


220 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


and she had not believed it possible that Esther 
would receive her apology so scornfully. 

There was a little murmur of sympathy among 
the listeners. They could not but admire Mat- 
tie’s self-control and brave words, and Esther’s 
conduct did not appear in a very enviable light 
by contrast. 

“Don’t you mind her, Mattie; she’s a hateful 
thing !” one of the girls exclaimed indignantly. 

Perhaps the knowledge that the sympathy of 
the girls was on her side soothed Mattie more 
than she cared to acknowledge, and perhaps it 
was the consciousness that a victory over self and 
pride had been won that helped to calm her ruffled 
feelings. She resolved to herself that, hard though 
the task might be, she would by patient and per- 
sistent kindness win Esther’s friendship. 

Mattie little guessed what an influence for 
good she had exerted that morning, even though 
apparently her efibrt had been a failure as far as 
making friends with Esther went. None of those 
who had witnessed the little scene doubted Mat- 
tie’s sincerity and earnestness in her new life, and 
they believed in the power of a religion which 
could so subdue a passionate temper and keep it 
under control. 


INFI.UENCB FOR GOOD. 


221 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

INFDUENCB FOR GOOD. 

Mattie’s strong influence for good over Etta 
and Nora was not without its effect. She fre- 
quently persuaded them to accompany her to 
church on Sunday evenings instead of taking the 
walks in which they still delighted, and she re- 
fused to connive any more at Etta’s deception of 
her aunt. 

When Etta would promise to go to church 
Mattie would call for her, and if necessary beg 
her aunt’s permission; but then she would not 
yield to her friend’s entreaties to be allowed to 
join Nora in a walk. 

“No; you said you wanted to go to church 
with me, and you must,” was Mattie’s inflexible 
determination. 

“ I think it ’s mean in you to make me go to 
church just because you want to,” Etta com- 
plained fretfully. “You used to help me get off 
without aunt’s knowing it; I don’t see why you 
wont now.” 

“You know very well why I wont,” Mattie 
answered with unruffled good-temper. “I never 


222 , 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


used to think about its being wrong for you to 
deceive your aunt and tell her stories; but now 
that I know better, I don’t mean to let you do 
that way any more. Now be a good girl and come 
to church without grumbling so much about it.” 

Mattie was not satisfied to rest contented with 
her own safety. She longed to bring her father 
and mother as well as her friends into the king- 
dom, and she worked for this end with a persist- 
ence that never wearied. 

Mr. Morse had called frequently, sometimes 
with his wife and sometimes alone, and he had 
won a warm place in the hearts of the Brown 
family. They looked upon him as a personal 
friend, and talked of him first as “our Mattie’s 
minister,” and then in a very little while as “ our 
minister. ’ ’ 

There was rarely a service at which some of 
the family were not present. Sunday evenings 
Mattie very often remained at home and took care 
of the little ones, so that her father and mother 
might enjoy the unwonted pleasure of going to 
church together; and the old, old story fell upon 
their unaccustomed ears with new beauty and 
meaning. Almost unconsciously to themselves 
they were daily drawing nearer to the kingdom, 
and Mattie rejoiced in their increasing interest in 
the things which were so precious to her. 


INFI.UENCE FOR GOOD. 


223 


As Etta saw the difference in Mattie’s feelings 
and inclinations she often pnz^led over it, and 
had a vague desire to know for herself the secret 
of her friend’s happiness. 

“Mattie, I wish you would tell me some- 
thing,” she exclaimed one day. “You are al- 
ways so happy, and you say it is because you are 
a Christian. Now you have ever so much to 
make you happy, anyway, for the girls all like 
you at the store, and you have such a nice home, 
where you can do as you please without any one 
to scold you all the time, and you have so many 
to love you, that you can’t be anything but hap- 
py, I should think. Now what I want to ask you 
is this: if you were in my place, without much 
else to make you happy, would being a Christian 
make you happy?” 

Mattie’s face glowed with earnest feeling. “ I 
don’t think you will believe me if I tell you, 
Etta, for I know I wouldn’t have realized it 
until I tried it for myself; but I know that I 
couldn’t be so poor and miserable and friendless 
that I would not be happy in loving Jesus. O 
Etta, you are always wanting some one to love 
you. Just think how Jesus loves you. He died 
for you, just as much for you as if there was no- 
body else in the whole wide world; and yet you 
do n’t care enough about it even to love him back 


224 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


again. Just trust in liis love long enough to find 
how happy it will make you, and I am sure you 
would never give it up. ’ ’ 

Etta shook her head mournfully. “ It is very 
easy for you to talk,” she said, “because you feel 
that way, but I don’t. I can’t make myself be- 
lieve that he loves me, for I don’t feel as if any 
one did; and I can’t love him when I feel so, 
can I?” 

“Ask him to make you love him, then,” an- 
swered Mattie quickly. ‘ ‘ If you do n’ t believe 
that he loves you, and if you don’t love him, 
why, just ask him to make you love him, and he 
will.” 

There was a ring of glad certainty in Mattie’s 
tones, and her faith unconsciously strengthened 
Etta’s weak belief. 

“ Do you suppose he really would ?” she asked, 
longing with all her heart to feel sure of some 
love, for that was the one thing that she fancied 
would make her life happy. 

‘ ‘ I am certain of it, ’ ’ Mattie responded. “You 
just try and see, Etta. You pray to-night, and I 
will pray for you too, that you may really believe 
that God loves you and that you may love him.” 

“I will,” Etta answered. “You’re a funny 
girl anyhow, Mattie,” she added after a moment 
of thought. 


INFLUENCE FOR GOOD. 


225 

“Why?” asked Mattie, smiling at her friend’s 
puzzled expression. 

“Because — I don’t know exactly,” Btta an- 
swered rather disconnectedly. ‘ ‘ Somehow you 
seem to talk about religion and loving Jesus and 
all that just as you would talk about anything 
else that is really so.” 

“ Well, isn’t it all really so?” Mattie asked. 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Ktta answered; “only it 
do n’ t seem so, you know. Somehow you seem 
to mean what you say more than any one else but 
Mrs. Morse. I wish I felt so.” 

“You will, Ktta, if you only try,” Mattie re- 
sponded, wishing that she could give her friend 
some of the peace which filled her heart to over- 
flowing. 

They were on their way home from the store, 
and just then they reached Etta’s door. 

“ I don’t believe I can come around to-night,” 
Etta said as she lingered on the doorstep to say 
good-by to her friend. ‘ ‘ Aunt has got some sew- 
ing for me to do, and I expect she’ll make me 
stay at home to-night and do it. I hope I can get 
off a little while, for it seems to me she gets crosser 
and crosser every day. ’ ’ 

“Come if you can,” Mattie answered; “but, 
Etta, don’t forget what you promised. You 
would be so much happier if you only loved Jesus, 

15 


Mrs. Morse's Girls. 


226 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


and I can’t rest satisfied until you do. Remem- 
ber, you promised to ask him to-night to teach 
you to love him, and I will ask him too with all 
my heart. Good-by.” 

There was a difference in the faces of the two 
girls that corresponded to the difference in their 
hearts. Mattie’s countenance reflected her inward 
peace and happiness, and there was a thoughtful 
look mingled with the brightness of her expres- 
sion; while Etta’s face wore a fretful, discontent- 
ed look, as if she were wholly dissatisfied with her 
life, as indeed she was. 

She could not satisfy all the higher desires of 
her nature by gay dress and occasional stolen 
pleasures, and the one thing for which she pined 
was withheld from her. 

If she only had a mother, she thought long- 
ingly to herself, then surely she could never be 
unhappy. She was hungering for love and its 
expression, and the utter lack of it in her home 
made her unhappy and discontented. 

Her aunt seemed to grow sterner and more un- 
loving each day, and Etta sometimes felt as if 
death would be a welcome release from the contin- 
ual stream of petty fault-finding and complaint. 

But death would not be the end of everything; 
that was the trouble; and Etta acknowledged to 
herself that she was not fit to die. 


INFLUENCE for good. 


227 


“I wish I was Mattie,” she said to herself as 
she looked after her friend for a moment, and then 
began to climb the long flight of stairs with wea- 
ry, laggard feet. 

As she had expected, her aunt bade her sit 
down to her sewing as soon as supper was des- 
patched and the dishes were cleared away, and 
Etta had plenty of time for her sad, discontented 
thoughts as she sat there stitching wearily away 
and wishing that she could escape from her aunt’s 
unwelcome company. 


228 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

ETTA’S DESIRE. 

Aunt Martha wondered not a little at Etta’s 
silence, for generally, when she had to spend the 
evening at home, she complained loudly and fre- 
quently at her enforced imprisonment; but to- 
night she sewed away in a silence that was more 
thoughtful than sullen. 

“I wonder if she’s got in any scrape at the 
store,” thought Aunt Martha as she glanced at 
Etta now and then; but she knew it would be of 
no use to ask her, for mutual confidences were 
unknown between aunt and niece. 

Finally, when the clock struck ten and Etta 
folded up her work with a weary sigh, she star- 
tled her aunt by asking abruptly, “Are you a 
Christian, Aunt Martha?” 

“I’m enough sight better than a good many 
as calls themselves Christians,” Aunt Martha an- 
swered briefly as she broke off a piece of thread 
with an energetic snap. “What did you ask me 
that for ?’ ’ 

“I don’t know; I was just wondering,” Etta 
answered. “I knew you didn’t belong to any 


ETTA’S DESIRE. 


229 


cliurcli, but I thought maybe you loved God, and 
]\Irs. Morse says that is what makes one a Chris- 
tian. ’ ’ 

“A heap Mrs. Morse knows, no doubt,” an- 
swered her aunt, not having any special reason for 
finding fault with Mrs. Morse’s words, but just 
disparaging Btta’s teacher because the girl was so 
fond of her. “I don’t see as I’ve got anything 
to love him for. I’ve had to work hard for my 
living all my life and do for others besides, and 
I a’ n’t had anything given me but what I’ve 
worked and ' paid for. What have I got to be 
thankful for, then, when I’ve done everything 
for myself?” 

Etta did not answer. It did not occur to her 
that health and strength with which to supply 
one’s bodily wants were blessings and gifts from 
God. 

She went into the little bedroom which she 
shared with her aunt and hastily prepared for bed 
that she might have time to fulfil her promise to 
Mattie before her aunt should come in. 

It was an earnest prayer, though a half-despair- 
ing one, that she uttered, wondering all the while 
whether Mattie was right when she said that God 
would answer it. 

“O God, if you do love me, please make me 
feel as if you did, and make me love you. Amen.” 


230 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES 


Slie cried softly after she laid her head on her 
pillow. She was so lonely, so unloved, she 
thought; and if it made Mattie so happy to love 
Jesus, she did wish that she could love him too. 

She had dropped into a troubled sleep when 
Aunt Martha came in half an hour later with her 
candle and saw the traces of tears on her face. 

“ She ’s in some scrape, I ’ll wager anything,” 
she thought grimly as she blew out the light and 
lay down beside her niece. ‘ ‘ Girls are an awful 
care; they ’re always in some trouble or other. I 
suppose if this is anything much. I’ll hear about 
it; and if it isn’t, why, it don’t make any differ- 
ence, anyhow;” and she went to sleep without 
any further anxiety concerning Ktta’s trouble. 

When Etta awoke the next morning and found 
her burden of loneliness just as heavy as ever, she 
thought to herself half triumphantly, ‘‘Now Mat- 
tie did n’ t know anything about it. I did pray, 
and I don’t feel a bit happier.” 

That was the first remark she made to her 
friend when Mattie stopped for her on the way to 
the store. 

“What are you smiling about?” she asked as 
Mattie’s eyes sparkled with amusement, notwith- 
standing her sympathy with her friend. 

“You make me think of a funny old woman I 
heard about the other day. You prayed, but you 


ETTA’S DESIRE. 


231 


didn’t believe that God was going to answer your 
prayer, and you would have been surprised if be 
bad. Tbis old woman prayed that a mountain at 
tbe back of ber bouse might be moved, and as 
soon as sbe got tbrougb praying sbe went to tbe 
window and looked out. ‘There you are yet,’ 
sbe said to tbe mountain; ‘just as I expected.’ 
Sbe had read that if she bad faith enough, ber 
prayer would remove mountains; but sbe certainly 
hadn’t any faith when sbe expected the mountain 
would stay just where it always bad been. Now 
you must n’ t expect an answer right away and get 
discouraged if it doesn’t come. You must keep 
on praying until you get what you ask for; so 
do n’ t stop until your prayer is answered. ’ ’ 

This was a new idea to Etta. Sbe bad thought 
that because her weak, doubting prayer of tbe 
night before bad been apparently unheeded, there 
was no use in prayer; but Mattie’s earnestness 
stimulated her to renewed effort. As the day 
passed away she found herself often thinking of 
the love which she now earnestly longed for, and 
gradually a sense of its preciousness dawned upon 
her and she realized that it would be well worth 
long and continued effort to obtain it. 

Mattie pitied her friend’s evident dejection, 
and once she made an errand over to her counter 
to whisper, “Etta dear, I’m so sorry you are 


232 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


feeling so discouraged, but perhaps you are going 
to be happy very soon. I was never as miserable 
in my life as I was the day before I gave up all to 
Jesus, and then happiness came all at once.” 

But though Mattie was sorry for Etta’s present 
unhappiness, she rejoiced in the thought that her 
old careless indifference had passed away. Her 
own experience had taught her that even the 
“terrible unrest” which it had seemed so cruel 
to pray for was a blessing when it ended in per- 
fect peace. 

“ Come to prayer-meeting with me to-night,” 
she said when business hours were over and the 
girls were on their homeward way. “I’ll stop 
and ask your aunt if you can’t go, and if she wdll 
let you, I will come for you as soon as supper is 
over. ’ ’ 

“All right,” Etta answered, not feeling any 
special desire for the prayer-meeting, but prefer- 
ring to spend the evening anywhere with Mattie 
rather than with her aunt. 

Aunt Martha rarely refused any request that 
Mattie made. It was against her usual habit to 
approve of any of Etta’s friends, but there was 
something attractive about the independent, 
straightforward girl that she liked in spite of her- 
self 

“I don’t suppose she’ll get into any mischief 


ETTA’S DESIRE. 


233 


witli you,” she said when Mattie asked if she 
might stop for Etta and take her to prayer-meet- 
ing. “And she a’ n’t such pleasant company 
around home that I’m likely to want more than I 
need of her. She can go for all I care.” 

The sullen look settled down again upon Etta’s 
face as she listened to her aunt’s words. 

‘ ‘ I wish I lived somewhere where I was want- 
ed, ’ ’ she exclaimed pettishly. 

“And if you did, you wouldn’t be any better 
satisfied than you are now, I can tell you,” an- 
swered Aunt Martha. “ You ’d be grumbling all 
the time because you hadn’t a free foot and 
couldn’t run when you chose.” 

“Then I’ll come for you, Etta,” interposed 
Mattie, pitying her friend from the depths of her 
heart, and she put her hand on her shoulder with 
a loving pressure as she passed her. 

“ I do hope Etta will soon be happy,” she said 
to herself as she walked towards her own home. 
“She has such an uncomfortable home that I 
don’t wonder she can’t find any happiness there. 

I wouldn’t live there with her aunt for anything 
if I could help it.” 

Etta was ready and waiting for her at the 
doorstep, and the two girls reached church shortly 
after the bell had rung for the first time. 

They were almost the first comers, and they 


234 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


somewhat shyly seated themselves in a corner of 
the well-lighted lecture-room. 

They had barely taken their places when Mr. 
Morse came in and, seeing them, came over to 
shake hands with them. 

“I am very glad to see you here,” he said 
cordially. “ Mattie, how goes it with you?” 

Mattie had long since ceased to feel under any 
constraint with her pastor and she could answer 
him freely; then a sudden impulse made her say, 

“Mr. Morse, I wish Etta felt as I do. She 
can’t believe that Jesus loves her, and so she can’t 
love him, though she wants to. Wont you help 
her?” 

“Very gladly,” Mr. Morse answered cordially, 
and his voice and manner were so kind that 
Etta’s first impulse of indignation at Mattie for 
mentioning her troubles to a minister died away 
and she felt as if he both could and would help 
her. 

People were beginning to come in now, so Mr. 
Morse glanced up at the clock. “Wont you re- 
main a few minutes after prayer-meeting, so I can 
have a little conversation with you?” he asked; 
and Etta promised to stay. 

Nina soon came in, flashing a bright smile of 
welcome at Mattie and Etta as she saw them in 
the corner, and Mattie guessed why her pretty 


ETTA’S DESIRE. 


235 

face was so radiant. Her father had accompanied 
her, and it was pleasant to see Nina’s happiness 
as she shared her hymnal with him and sat close 
beside him, her little hand nestling in his part of 
the time. 

No one but Etta and Mattie knew for whom 
Mr. Morse offered such fervent prayer that even- 
ing; and Etta’s heart throbbed with the first faint 
pulsations of grateful love as she heard the prayer 
which so earnestly entreated that she might have 
a realizing sense of the Saviour’s love. She was 
not mentioned by name, but all knew that some 
special need was in Mr. Morse’s mind, and the 
petition was united in by many hearts that had 
learned the preciousness of the boon they were 
asking for another. 

The girls lingered after the closing hymn had 
been sung and the benediction pronounced, and 
presently, when the congregation had dispersed, 
Mr. Morse called them into his study. His man- 
ner was so kind that Etta soon told him as simply 
as she had told Mattie how hard it was for her to 
believe that Jesus really loved her and how cold 
and lifeless her heart seemed when she tried to 
love him. 

“And I do want to be a Christian,” she con- 
cluded with a trembling voice. “I never cared 
about it before as I do to-night. I feel so wicked; 


236 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

and it don’t seem as if God could love me when 
I have never loved him nor tried to please him.” 

“We love him because he first loved us,” Mr. 
Morse answered. Then very gently he tried to 
bring her to believe that the Saviour’s love and 
atonement were hers if she would only accept 
them. The very simplicity of the step that it w^as 
necessary for her to take seemed to bewilder her, 
but at last an apprehension of it dawned upon 
her. 

When Mr. Morse found that her doubts and 
perplexity were all cleared away and that she was 
willing and eager to accept Christ’s righteousness, 
he felt that light would soon break upon her. 

Before they separated he once more prayed for 
her in a direct, personal way that made her feel 
that her special need of pardon and acceptance 
w^as being carried straight to the throne of grace; 
and even as she knelt in the quiet study, follow- 
ing the petitions of the earnest prayer, peace 
brooded over her troubled heart. 

Not all at once did a sense of pardon and peace 
come to her as it had to Mattie, but she felt that 
it was not far away and would soon be hers if she 
did not give up seeking for it. 

“Now, as it is growing late, I will go home 
with you,” Mr. Morse said; for he had heard from 
his wife something of the peculiarities of Etta’s 


Etta’s desire. 237 

aunt, and he did not wish Etta’s present peace- 
fulness to be jarred upon by a reproof. 

But the girls protested so earnestly that they 
did not mind going home alone and that their 
friends would not have been worried about them 
that the tired minister gladly gave up his kindly 
intention. 

“A’ n’t you glad you came, Etta?” asked 
Mattie eagerly as they walked swiftly towards 
home. 

“Yes,” answered Etta, “for somehow I feel 
as if I was very near God’s love, Mattie, and it 
makes me glad already.” 


238 


MRS. morse’s girls. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A FIRST STEP. 

Mattie was not surprised when Etta met her 
the next morning with an expression on her face 
that told the story of inward peace. She had felt 
that Etta’s conflict was nearly over the evening 
before when she had parted from her. 

“ Have you told your aunt yet?” Mattie asked 
when Etta had spoken of her changed feelings. 

“No,” Etta answered, “and I do dread tell- 
ing her; she will say something so unkind, I 
know. And, Mattie, there is something else I 
have thought of: it seems to me as if I ought to 
tell her how I have been deceiving her about 
going to church in the evenings. Of course I 
don’t mean to do it any more, and so perhaps I 
do n’ t really need to tell her, only I feel as if I 
ought to, somehow.” 

‘ ‘ I would if I were in your place, ’ ’ Mattie re- 
turned promptly. “Then you will be starting all 
fresh and fair on a new leaf. It is all over now, 
so I don’t think she will be very angry, especial- 
ly when you tell her yourself. ’ ’ 

“ You don’t know her, then,” Etta answered. 


A FIRST STEP. 


239 

It will make her angry to think I could keep it 
np so long without her finding it out. I am 
afraid she will say more to me than if she had 
found it out herself.” 

“Never mind if she does,” said Mattie en- 
couragingly. “I helped you, and I will go and 
take my share of the blame; and if she is angry, 
why, it will soon be over.” 

“ Last night, somehow, it seemed to stand be- 
tween me and becoming a Christian,” Etta said 
after a little hesitation. “ I thought about it and 
concluded I would not tell her about it, only I 
would never deceive her again. But still I kept 
feeling as if I ought to, and as long as I kept 
thinking I couldn’t I was unhappy. Finally I 
made up my mind that, no matter how angry she 
might be, I would tell her to-night; and, do you 
know, as soon as I settled on that then I felt that 
I was a Christian and nothing was keeping me 
back.” 

“ Then you surely must tell her,” Mattie said, 
“as long as you promised yourself to.” 

It seemed like a new world to Etta that day 
in the first joy of her new love. Everything 
seemed brighter and more beautiful, her compan- 
ions were kinder and customers more considerate. 

“How could I live so long without Jesus?” 
she asked herself, hardly able to keep her happi- 


240 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

ness from breaking out in song. All the long 
pent-up fountains of love that had never had an 
object upon which to lavish themselves were 
loosened, and she only longed to express her love 
to Jesus. 

All that clouded her joy was the thought of 
the confession she had determined to make to her 
aunt that night, and thinking about it all day did 
not tend to increase her courage. 

“ Shall I come in with you and take my share 
of blame now, or would you rather be alone when 
you tell her?” asked Mattie as she paused with 
Etta at the latter’s doorstep that evening. 

“I guess I would rather tell her by myself,” 
Etta answered after a moment’s thought. “ Per- 
haps, if she is tired or cross, it will be better to 
tell her after supper. I truly mean to tell her, 
but I want to choose the easiest time.” 

“I hope she wont be hard on you,” Mattie 
said sympathetically. “But if she does scold, 
dear, just remember that we really all did deserve 
a scolding, for it was wrong to deceive her so, and 
it’s right to tell her about it now. It will help 
you to think Whom you are doing it for.” 

Mattie could hardly understand Etta’s fear of 
her aunt, and she had often wondered why her 
friend took so much trouble to conceal from her 
little things that were really of no importance. 


A FIRST STEP. 


241 


The constant fault-finding, instead of harden- 
ing Etta into indifference, had made her over-sen- 
sitive to blame, and she was prone to exaggerate 
every unkind remark and brood over it, instead of 
dismissing it from her mind. To escape the crit- 
icism that was likely to be bestowed upon all her 
actions, she had acquired the habit of conceal- 
ment, and had not the least compunction about 
deceiving her aunt in any way. 

It was more of a trial to her than can easily be 
imagined to confess her wrong-doing with the ex- 
pectation of a severe reproof. 

She found her aunt in far from a pleasant or 
amiable mood, and her heart sank at the thought 
of arousing her anger. She had determined, 
however, not to put off her confession until an- 
other day lest her courage should utterly fail. 

“You’ve got to make yourself useful for once, ’ ’ 
was her aunt’s salutation as Etta came in. “I 
haven’t been able to do anything about supper, 

I ’ve got such a pain in my shoulder. It ’s rheu- 
matism, I suppose, and I don’t know what I’ll 
do if I’m in for a long spell of it. Hurry up 
now and don’t be long about it, for the fire wont 
hold out for more than half an hour.” 

Usually Etta would have obeyed in sullen 
silence, but a new spirit was influencing her to- 

dav, and she followed its prompting. 

16 


242 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

“I’m sorry you ’ve got such a pain,” she said 
pleasantly as she took off her hat and sacque and 
hung them up. “Can’t I rub your shoulder for 
you?” 

“ You ’d better do what I told you first,” was 
the curt response; and Ktta in silence put on the 
great gingham apron that hung behind the door, 
discouraged by her failure to please her aunt. 

“ It ’s no use trying to be pleasant to her,” she 
thought sadly as she busied herself in the prepara- 
tion of the simple meal, obeying without a word 
the sharp directions her aunt issued every now and 
then. “ She has been good to me in one way, for 
she has given me a home; but if she would only 
love me a little and let me love her, I would be so 
glad. I don’t believe I’ll try to speak nicely to 
her any more.” 

Every moment it seemed more impossible for 
her to make her dreaded confession. While she 
was eating her supper she glanced nervously sev- 
eral times at the stern, hard-featured face oppo- 
site, and wondered whether the words would 
come if she tried to speak them. 

“I must tell her; I must,” she whispered to 
herself when supper was over at last and the 
dishes had all been neatly washed and put away. 

Aunt Martha sat in her chair by the window 
groaning every now and then with the pain in 


A FIRST STEP. 


243 

her shoulder 5 and when Htta, with a prayer for 
help, nerved herself to the effort of confession and 
said timidly, “Aunt Martha!” the sharp “ Well ?” 
would have been discouraging to a braver heart. 

“ I want to tell you something,” the girl went 
on, speaking rapidly, though her voice trembled 
with agitation. “lam going to try to be a Chris- 
tian after this. I learned to love Jesus last night, 
and I have asked him to forgive me for all I have 
done that has been wicked. There is something 
I have been doing lately that I think I ought to 
tell you and ask your forgiveness for. Until Mat- 
tie joined the church and made me go* with her 
Sunday evenings, I used to go for walks instead 
of to church, as I told you I wanted to. I did n’t 
think then how wrong it was to deceive you. I 
just wanted the fun, and I knew you would n’t let 
me go for a walk, so I made believe I wanted to 
go to church. I am very sorry. Aunt Martha, 
and I wont do it any more.” Her voice quivered 
so that the last words were almost inaudible as 
she finished the speech that seemed so long. 

The cloud of anger on Aunt Martha’s face 
grew blacker every moment as she listened to her 
niece’s confession, and no thought of forgiveness 
entered her mind. 

“ No, I don’t think you will do it again, you 
wicked, ungrateful girl!” she exclaimed angrily 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


244 

as she frowned with displeasure. “I shall watch 
you after this and see that you do n’t get any more 
chances to deceive me that way. You are not fit to 
be trusted out of my sight for a moment, and I ’ll 
not be fool enough to believe a word you say after 
this. How dare you tell me to my face that you 
got the best of me in that shameless way by telling 
me you wanted to go to church ? Church indeed! 
I doubt whether you ever go there, or ever have 
been, for that matter. Not a word will I hear 
from you,” she exclaimed sharply as Etta tried to 
interpose a word. “If it wasn’t for the sake of 
the family I’d wash my hands of you altogether 
and turn you out in the street to find a home the 
best you might. Yon don’t deserve all the trou- 
ble and expense you’ve been to me all your life, 
and I don’t want any more of your pious hypoc- 
risy around here. I suppose you want to fool me 
again to carry out your own purposes.” 

Poor Etta! It had been even worse than she 
had expected, for the sharp twinges of pain in her 
aunt’s shoulder had considerably increased her 
irritability. 

“ She need not have been so hard on me when 
I told her about it myself,” she thought as she 
threw herself on her bed and buried her face in 
the pillow to hide the tears that would come. 
“And it is so cruel in her a call me a hypocrite 


A FIRST STEP. 


245 


because I told her I was going to be a Christian;’^ 
and the remembrance of this unjust accusation 
made the tears flow still faster. 

Her heart was fast filling itself with the bit- 
ter, angry thoughts she had tried to banish as she 
lay there and thought over her wrongs, and as she 
realized this she made a brave effort to drive them 
away and call kinder ones into their place. 

“Aunt Martha isn’t so very much to blame 
for thinking that 1 am not in earnest now,” she 
argued to herself. “ I told her I wanted to go to 
church when I didn’t, so of course she hasn’t 
much reason for believing that I am speaking 
the truth now when I tell her that I want to be a 
Christian. I must prove it to her by acting like 
a Christian. If I try very hard, perhaps she will 
believe that I mean to be different and care for me 
a little. I am sorry her shoulder hurts her so, 
and perhaps she wouldn’t have been so cross if 
she had felt well. I’ll go and offer to do some- 
thing for her.” 

It cost no little struggle with self to subdue 
her angry feelings and resolve to offer to help 
her aunt, but in her new strength Etta won the 
victory; and drying her eyes she soon regained 
her composure. 

Every now and then a groan of pain escaped 
from her aunt, who was really suffering severely; 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


246 

and Etta, remembering that she bad heard one of 
the neighbors often speak of the merits of a lini- 
ment she had, went and borrowed the bottle, the 
contents of which she was assured would speedily 
end her aunt’s pain. 

“Eet me rub your shoulder with this lini- 
ment,” she said when she reentered the room. 

‘ ‘ Mrs. Ellis says it will cure you by to-morrow 
if you let me rub it well for you.” 

“I don’t care if you do,” was the somewhat 
ungracious acceptance of her offer. “I’m near- 
ly out of patience with it already, and I wont be 
able to take a stitch to-morrow if it keeps on this 
way.” 

Long and patiently Etta rubbed until her 
arm ached with the unaccustomed labor, and 
at last the liniment and its application brought 
relief to Aunt Martha. 

“There, that’ll do,” she said at last, just as 
Etta had come to the conclusion that she could 
not keep up the rubbing a minute longer, she 
was so tired. 

“Does it feel better,” Etta asked, hoping for 
a word of appreciation. 

“ Yes; some. I guess I ’ll go to bed now and 
maybe I’ll get to sleep before it begins to ache 
again.” 

In no way, either by word or manner, did she 


A FIRST STEP. 


247 


show any gratitude for Etta’s patient effort to re- 
lieve her pain, though it was not unappreciated. 
She wondered not a little at Etta’s willingness to 
do anything for her after she had reproved her so 
sharply, but she was so unaccustomed to speak- 
ing pleasantly that it would really have cost her 
a great effort to express the feelings that were in 
her heart just then. 

‘‘I was too hard on her this evening when 
she need n’ t have told me about her slipping off 
that way if she hadn’t had a mind too,” she re- 
flected as she settled herself for sleep. “ But my 
shoulder hurt me so that I said more than I 
meant to. A good scolding wont hurt any one, 
though, and if she didn’t deserve it all then she 
will some other time.” 

Was her evening’s labor in vain? Etta won- 
dered as she lay down beside her aunt a little 
later. She had tried so hard to overcome her 
angry feelings and do a kind action, and yet she 
had no reason to think that she had softened her 
aunt’s heart in the least by her sacrifice. 

For a little while a tired, discouraged feeling 
asserted itself; then she remembered gladly that 
it had not been for her aunt’s sake, but for Jesus, 
that she had won this victory over self, and it 
was well worth doing for his dear sake. 


248 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS, 


CHAPTER XXX. 

COMING TRIALS. 

It is well that we cannot look forward and 
see what lies before us. If Etta could have 
known that night what lay before her in the 
weeks to come, I think she would have been 
dismayed and utterly discouraged. 

Her aunt moaned at intervals during the 
night and tossed restlessly around in her sleep, 
and awoke in the morning unrefreshed and ir- 
ritable with pain. 

“I don’t believe I can get up,” she said when 
she tried in vain to rise, but fell back with a 
groan. ‘ ‘ I ache all over and my shoulder is 
worse than a toothache. You ’ll have to get 
breakfast and maybe I can get up then.” 

But when breakfast was prepared and eaten 
she felt no better, and reluctantly made up her 
mind that she would have to stay in bed that day. 

Etta dressed herself and was preparing her 
lunch to take to the store with her when she 
suddenly realized how lonely it would be for 
her aunt to lie there all day alone, dependent 
on the care of an obliging neighbor. 


COMING TRIALS. 


249 


True, she would not suffer for anything, for 
Mrs. Carson was a kind-hearted woman and 
would see that her sick neighbor had every- 
thing she needed; but she had a large family 
of little children and her visits would of ne- 
cessity be very brief and far apart. 

Should she stay at home with her? Etta 
pondered the question as she buttered the slices 
of bread she had cut. She would lose her day’s 
wages, but Etta did not mind that as much as 
she did the thought of being shut up all day 
with her aunt. 

Ik she decided to stay, she must watch for 
Mattie and send word to the store by her. It 
was very hard to make up her mind to stay at 
home. She had often been sick and her ..aunt had 
gone to work just the same, so she did not feel 
under any obligations of gratitude in the matter. 

But it would be so hard to lie there and suffer 
all alone without any care or sympathy, and pity 
for her aunt finally decided the matter. When 
Mattie stopped to call for Etta, as usual, she was 
charged with a message to the manager explain- 
ing her friend’s absence. 

“It will be hard work to-day, Mattie,” she 
said. “I don’t think I could do it for aunt 
alone, even though I am sorry for her. But I 
can do it for Jesus.” 


250 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


Etta needed to remember many a time that 
day for whom she had given up her own inclina- 
tions, for it seemed impossible to please her aunt. 

“I’m going to stay at home with you to- 
day,” she said when she went up stairs again 
after bidding Mattie good-by. “Then you wont 
have to depend on Mrs. Carson for everything; 
and perhaps if I give your shoulder another good 
rubbing it wont hurt so.” 

She had expected to see a look of pleased sur- 
, prise when she announced her intention of stay- 
ing at home, but Aunt Martha only answered, 

“You rubbed me too hard last night, I be- 
lieve, and that’s what makes me so sore now. 
Rub it gently this time.” 

Etta got the bottle, and, helping her aunt sit 
up in bed, bared the swollen shoulder and began 
to rub it with gentle touch. 

The flesh was too inflamed to bear the least 
further irritation, and Aunt Martha at once cried 
out with pain. 

“Stop, stop!” she exclaimed. “I can’t stand 
that; it only makes it worse!” And with many 
a groan she laid herself down in bed again. 

“Hadn’t I better get the doctor?” Etta asked, 
as the pain still seemed to increase and she knew 
of no remedies to suggest. 

“Do you think I’m made of money?” Aunt 


COMING TRIALS. 


251 


Martha asked pettishly. “Who’s to pay him? 
I’d like to know. I’m not going to spend any 
of my money on one. I have n’t had a doctor for 
fifteen years, and I don’t mean to begin fooling 
with one now.” 

She changed her mind, however, when she 
grew feverish with her pain and found that it was 
steadily increasing all the time. 

“ I expect you ’ll have to fetch a doctor,” she 
said reluctantly at last. “ Maybe he can give me 
something that will make me all right in one 
visit.” 

Etta had begun to be seriously uneasy about 
her aunt and was very glad to avail herself of the 
permission to call the doctor. 

About three o’clock in the afternoon he came 
and pronounced Aunt Martha’s sickness to be in- 
flammatory rheumatism. 

He was a man used to dealing with all kinds 
of people or he might have been alarmed at the 
storm of indignation his words brought upon him 
from his patient. 

“Don’t tell me I’ve got inflammatory rheu- 
matism,” said Aunt Martha angrily. “I’ve got 
no time to lie abed for weeks with it, and I ’ve 
known people that had to. I wont have it. I 
sent for you to give me something to fix me up at 
once, so I would n’t have a long spell of sickness, 


252 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

and now you tell me I ’ve got inflammatory rheu- 
matism. Why don’t you tell me what to take, 
so I can get rid of it at once ?” 

“It will have to take its own time,” the doc- 
tor remarked, rapidly pencilling a prescription. 
“But I hope I can relieve your suffering some- 
what. Will you get this prescription filled at 
once ?’ ’ he added, handing a folded paper to Etta ; 
“and give it to her according to these directions. 
I will come in to-morrow to see her.” 

“Will you have to come again?” Aunt Martha 
asked in a tone of such despair that it brought a 
smile to the doctor’s face. 

' “Yes, you will have to resign yourself to sev- 
eral more visits,” he answered as he took his hat 
and prepared to leave. 

Aunt Martha burst into tears as the doctor 
closed the door behind him. She was not used to 
giving way to her feelings, but the pain she had 
undergone had made her weak and nervous, and 
she cried until she had completely exhausted her 
tears over the prospect of a long, painful illness, 

Etta’s heart was filled with pity for her, and 
she knelt down beside the bed aud put her arm 
about her, the first caress she had ever offered. 

“Don’t cry, aunt; please don’t!” she en- 
treated. “I will take care of you, and perhaps 
you will not be sick as long as you think.” 


COMING TRIALS. 


253 


Aunt Martha did not like sympathy. It al- 
ways angered her to have anybody know that she 
needed pity for any ailment, either of body or 
mind, and she pushed Etta away fretfully. 

“Much care you will take of me!” she said. 
“ I know just how much to expect from you. 
It’s easy to say, ‘Don’t mind about it,’ when you 
are well and strong yourself. Go away and leave 
me alone. I ’ m tired of having you fussing about. ’ ’ 
Hurt and vexed at this repulse, Etta put on 
her hat and went to the drug-store to get the pre- 
scription filled. Her heart was very heavy as she 
walked slowly along; her burden seemed greater 
than she could bear even then, and she knew that 
it would not gfrow lig^hter for some time to come. 

How could she nurse her aunt when she was 
so irritable and hard to please? Yet there was no 
one else to take care of her, unless she should go 
to a hospital and be nursed by strangers ; and Etta 
shrank from the thought. It was really a small 
sacrifice to make when she remembered how many 
years of care, unloving, it is true, but still neces- 
sary care, her aunt had bestowed on her. It 
would be cruel ingratitude to refuse to care for 
her now in her illness, even though it would be a 
trying task to minister to her. 

It was a duty plainly placed before her, and 
she must do it faithfully and well — for Jesus’ sake. 


254 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


Ah, what a difference those three words made! 
They lightened the burden and brought back 
peace to Etta’s troubled heart. 

‘'I will be very patient,” she thought to her- 
self; “ and she will not be so cross when she finds 
out that I am really sorry and mean to do all I 
can to make her more comfortable.” 

She hastened back with the prescription and 
administered it according to the doctor’s direc- 
tions; and then she painted the inflamed shoulder 
with a preparation he had given her for this pur- 
pose. 

“You’ll have to finish those overalls on the 
machine,” Aunt Martha said as she lay down 
again, feeling somewhat relieved. “I promised 
to finish them by to-night, but if you can get 
them done to take them back to-morrow, it will 
have to do. You can do them well enough, for 
it’s mostly plain, straight seams.” 

Etta stitched busily away till it commenced to 
grow dark ; then she laid her work aside and be- 
gan to get supper. It had been the longest day 
she had ever known in all her life, she thought to 
herself as she stirred the fire and put the kettle on 
to boil. Would every day seem so endless? she 
wondered wearily. 

After the meal had been eaten and cleared 
away she sat down to her sewing again, cheered a 


COMING TRIALS. 


255 


little by Mattie’s brief visit and her words of sym- 
pathy. It was tedious work, for she was not ex- 
pert at it, as her aunt was ; and as she saw how 
little she had accomplished by bedtime, she won- 
dered whether she would be able to finish her task 
by the next day. 

‘ ‘ How are you getting along with those over- 
alls?” Aunt Martha asked as the clock struck ten 
and Etta put aside her work with a little sigh of 
weariness. 

“I can do them all right,” Etta answered, 
‘‘only it takes me ever so much longer than it 
does you.” 

“ You ’d soon get into the way of doing them 
fast,” her aunt answ’ered. “If I’ve got to lie 
abed for two or three weeks and you stay home 
from the store, you’d better ask for some more 
overalls to-morrow and bring them home with 
you to do. We can’t live On nothing nor go into 
debt; and little as you will make for a while, it 
will be better than nothing. ’ ’ 

“All right,” Etta responded, trying to keep 
the disappointment out of her tones. It was such 
disasreeable work and it had been such a task to 
finish these few that to look forward to sewing 
them day after day until her aunt should be well 
again was a discouraging prospect. 


256 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRtS. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

A HARD LESSON. 

The overalls were the lightest part of Etta’s 
troubles in the days and nights that followed, 
dragging their weary lengths away in slow suc- 
cession. Many a hot tear fell on the rough cloth 
and many a prayerful thought was stitched into 
the long seams, for Etta’s life was full of trials. 
Not very great ones, perhaps; but do we not all 
know how hard to bear are those tiny pin-pricks 
of discomforts and anxieties that seem in the tell- 
ing hardly worth minding? 

Aunt Martha was unused to sickness and pain, 
and she had no idea of bearing her really severe 
pain patiently. She was selfish in her suffering, 
and no thought of sparing the steps of her patient 
little nurse ever entered her mind. 

Her wants were innumerable. She would fret- 
fully ask for a drink of water, and hardly could 
Etta give her that and return to the interminable 
overalls before she would want to have the ar- 
rangement of her pillows altered. In less than 
five minutes, perhaps, the light in the room would 
annoy her. Either it was too bright and dazzled 


A HARD LESSON. 


257 


her eyes, or the room was as gloomy as a grave; 
and the curtain must be pulled up or down, as the 
case might be, until she was satisfied. Then she 
would want something to eat, and nothing seemed 
to satisfy her capricious appetite. Etta utterly 
despaired of seasoning anything to suit the in- 
valid, though her best efforts were not withheld 
from the task. 

From morning till night Etta was kept busy, 
and every half-hour all night she had to get up 
for something that her aunt wanted. 

She made a resting-place on the floor for her- 
self, for the least jar or movement brought a cry 
of pain from her aunt and she could not have any 
one occupy the bed with her. 

Etta would be so completely worn out by- bed- 
time that her sleep was too profound to be easily 
disturbed. After one night, when her aunt had 
had considerable difficulty in arousing her, Etta 
tied a strinof to her wrist and fastened the other 
end to a chair by her aunt’s bed, so that she could 
be more easily awakened. 

As the inflammation spread and Aunt Martha’s 
pain increased she required more attention, and 
some nights it seemed to Etta as if she had barely 
put her head on her pillow after one want had 
been supplied before she was called for something 
else. 


Mrs. Morse’s Girts. 


17 


258 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

In all this time Aunt Martha never once re- 
membered that a word of loving appreciation or 
gratitude would have lightened the burden which 
rested so heavily on the girlish shoulders. She 
never spared complaint or fault-finding if she fan- 
>cied that there was any occasion for it, but a word 
of affection or praise never by any chance escaped 
her; so it was not strange that Btta often grew 
utterly discouraged in her work. 

She did not grudge the care she gave the suf- 
ferer, and she would not have been content to 
resign into the hands of strangers the work which 
she felt to be hers; still it was very hard to bear 
the invalid’s unreasonable fault-finding, and when 
she was doing her very best to be accused of self- 
ishness and loving her own ease. 

“For Jesus’ sake.” That was the talisman 
that kept her from utter discouragement in these 
days. 

For Etta was neither a saint nor an angel. 
She was very human, and very often her patience 
would give way before unprovoked impatience’ 
and a hasty retort would reply to the sufferer’s 
querulousness. Her face would flush with anger 
and her eyes flash with indignation at some little 
injustice which seemed unbearable. When nerves 
are strained to their utmost and physical strength 
is exhausted by demands upon it night and day. 


A HARD LESSON. 


259 


it is not to be wondered at if long-suffering some- 
times fails utterly and temper asserts itself. It is 
quite as much a result of a disordered physical 
condition as of a faulty spiritual state; but Etta 
did not know this and mourned bitterly over her 
failures, fearing that her new love was growing 
cold and lifeless. 

Days rolled away into w’eeks, and the weeks 
became a month before Aunt Martha began to 
amend; and her convalescence was scarcely less 
trying than her illness had been. Kind-hearted 
neighbors came in frequently and offered to share 
in nursing her, but their patience was speedily 
exhausted by her petulance, so the burden rested 
principally upon Etta. 

Mrs. Morse called very frequently, and her 
loving words of encouragement always inspired 
Etta to renewed effort. The teacher saw just 
how trying a discipline it was through which the 
young girl was passing, and she longed to help 
her bear her troubles when she saw how they 
were weighing upon her. Aunt Martha yielded 
by degrees to the charm of her pleasant ways, and 
was less petulant and irritable while she was 
there. Mrs. Morse often spent an hour at a time 
with her, insisting upon Etta’s taking that time 
for out-door exercise and rest from her otherwise 
continual care. 


26 o MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

Mr. Morse too often called, and Aunt Martha 
stood in too great awe of him to be her usual 
querulous self when he was there. 

Mattie always stopped every morning on her 
way to the store to see if there was anything she 
could do for her friend; and in the evening she 
came for a longer visit and stitched away at the 
overalls, unless the invalid’s nervousness was so 
great that talking disturbed her, in which case 
she would peremptorily bid Mattie go home. 

The other members of Etta’s class did not for- 
get her. Nora often came with Mattie, and her 
sympathy cheered her friend. And Nina sent 
great bouquets of flowers — which, as she knew, 
made Etta happier than they did the sick wo- 
man — and baskets of fruit which were very ac- 
ceptable. The cool white grapes and juicy oran- 
ges refreshed the parched, feverish mouth, and 
since they came from Etta’s friend, made Aunt 
Martha less impatient with Etta for a time. 

lyois too did all that she could to show her 
sympathy and friendship ; and if the invalid 
would have allowed it, she would have shared 
Etta’s labor of nursing. 

But Aunt Martha would not hear of accepting 
her offer. “I’m not going to have a fine lady 
like that sitting around and asking what I want,” 
she said decisively. “ If you wont wait on me 


A HARD lesson. 


261 


I’ll go to a hospital, but I wont have strangers 
around;” so Btta said no more. 

All that was womanly and unselfish in Btta’s' 
nature developed rapidly under this discipline, 
and even her aunt was constrained to admit to 
herself that there was a wonderful change in the 
girl. 

She was as patient and tender a nurse as if 
she had been caring for a dearly-loved mother, 
and Aunt Martha knew that she had never done 
anything to win her niece’s affection. 

“ She couldn’t do more for me if I’d petted 
and indulged her all her life,” she thought. “I 
wonder what she does it for.” 

Some one else too wondered what she did it 
for. Nora, spending an hour with her friend, 
felt her own temper rising when she listened to 
the fretful impatience of the invalid and her utter 
unreason. 

“How can you stand it, Etta?” she asked 
indignantly when she stood at the door for a few 
last words with her friend; and noting how thin 
and pale Etta had grown and how hollow her 
eyes were, she went on, “Don’t kill yourself for 
her, Etta. You look like a ghost now. What on 
earth do you do it for, anyway? You surely do n’t 
love her, and she has never been good to you.” 

Etta hesitated a moment. She felt a girlish 


2.62 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

reluctance to speak of the things nearest to her 
heart to this friend who did not know how sacred 
and precious a thing her love for Jesus was. Yet 
why should she not speak ? And so after a pause 
the answer came: “ For Jesus’ sake.” 

“ Do you really mean just that ?” Nora asked; 
and she wondered at the joyous light that came 
into the tired face as Etta answered, 

U Yes.” 

Nora went home with a new resolve taking 
form in her heart. She would know for herself 
something of this new love which had so changed 
her friends and which they prized so highly. And 
Etta, as she went back to her weary watch by 
the sick-bed, little guessed that her simple words 
had aroused in her friend’s heart a desire to be- 
come a Christian too. 

“It is so hard,” she said once to Mrs. Morse 
when the day’s trials had seemed almost unbeara- 
ble and every unkind word had brought swift 
tears. 

And the loving teacher, holding the tired girl 
to her as tenderly as a mother might have done, 
answered, “God knows best, dear, and he has 
sent you this discipline. - He knows that, hard as 
it is, it is just what you need most. Take it as a 
lesson you are to learn in God’s school, and it 
will bring you a blessing and teach you wonder- 


A HARD LESSON. 263 

fill lessons of love and trust that you could never 
learn in any other way.” 

It comforted Htta to remember those words, 
and she remembered with them the loving em- 
brace, which warmed her heart, though it was 
only a token of an earthly friend’s love. 

She had gained an unfailing Helper just in 
time for this season of special need. Without the 
strength which came to her day by day and hour 
by hour in answer to her earnest prayers, she 
could never have borne this trial; and she was 
very glad that she had found her Saviour in time 
to claim his promise of help and strength for these 
days. 

Every one but her aunt noticed the girl’s 
growing weakness and pallor. It was visibly an 
effort for her to keep about at the necessary em- 
ployment that each day brought, and finally the 
doctor remonstrated. 

“You will have your niece down sick pretty 
soon if you don’t try to help yourself a little 
more. She is badly run down and needs a tonic 
now. ’ ’ 

“I’m sure I do n’t know where the money is 
to come from,” complained Aunt Martha fret- 
fully. “ I sha’ n’t have a cent to call my own for 
a year to come by the time I get your bill paid 
and pay for the medicines I’ve had already too. 


264 MRS. morse’s girls. 

Etta’s all right enough; she never was a strong- 
looking girl, anyhow. She always looked peaked 
and delicate.” 

“If she isn’t strong it ’sail the more reason 
that she shouldn’t overwork herself,” the doctor 
answered gravely, casting a pitying glance at the 
tired figure sitting by the window in the next 
room, stitching away at the overalls, with a weary 
droop in the shoulders that touched his heart, in- 
ured to suffering though it was by the trouble he 
saw daily in his visits among his patients. 

But no one could convince Aunt Martha that 
any one was ailing or needed any care or nursing 
besides herself, and Etta never complained. If 
she had, perhaps Aunt Martha might have been 
warned in time. As health and strength came 
back to her she found herself strangely disinclined 
to exertion or any effort to take care of herself. 
It never occurred to her that this disinclination 
might merit the harsh name of laziness, for hith- 
erto she had always deserved her reputation for 
being a hard-working, industrious woman. 

Not infrequently, however, it occurs that after 
a long illness even the most active of people be- 
come so used to being nursed and waited upon 
that they are reluctant to begin to take care of 
themselves and do not recognize the boundary 
line between helplessness and indolence. 


A HARD LESSON. 265 

Some days after Aunt Martha was quite able, 
if she had only recognized the fact, to come to 
the table for her meals and assist in some of the 
lighter household duties, she still required Etta 
to wait on her and bring everything that she 
needed to the chair in which she sat, propped 
among pillows. 

Etta was more languid than usual one morn- 
ing. She felt as if at last her strength w’as utterly 
exhausted and she must give up. Her limbs 
ached wearily, as they had for some days, and her 
head throbbed with pain whenever she moved. 
She dragged herself slowly about the room, put- 
ting the breakfast dishes away, feeling as if each 
step would be the last her strength would hold out 
for. 

“ Put some more coal on that fire, Etta,” Aunt 
Martha said, drawing her shawl about her shoul- 
ders. “ It must be getting low.” 

Etta stooped and raised the coal-scuttle, but 
she staggered under its weight. 

” Eook out what you’re doing!” Aunt Mar- 
tha cried sharply. 

But Etta did not hear her words; a strange 
dizziness seized her and she fell on the floor un- 
conscious. 


266 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

JOY AFTER SORROW 

Aunt Martha screamed when she saw Etta’s 
white face and motionless figure, and a neighbor 
who had heard her fall came running in. 

“Poor child!” she exclaimed as she ran to her. 

“What’s the matter with her?” asked Aunt 
Martha. “You don’t know what a turn she 
gave me.” 

“What’s the matter? Matter enough, I 
should say!” retorted the neighbor, who had been 
longing for a chance to “give the old woman a 
piece of her mind, ’ ’ as she expressed it. “ You ’ re 
what’s the matter with her. Anybody else that 
had eyes in their head could see that you were 
just killing the child by inches, the way you’ve 
made her slave for you since you’ve been sick. 
Night nor day not a moment’s rest she’s had for 
five weeks, and the only wonder is that she’s 
stood it this long. I knew she’d got to break 
down some time soon. And never a kind word 
has she had with it all ! Any one else would 
have left you to get along the best way you could 
if you had said half to them that you have to this 
poor girl. She couldn’t please you nohow, no 


JOY AFTER SORROW. 


267 

matter what she did; and she had the patience of 
an angel with you. You ought to be ashamed of 
yourself, that’s what you ought, treating a mo- 
therless girl the way you ’ve treated her. You ’ve 
never been kind to her; and enough to eat and a 
place to sleep is the least a girl like her wants. 
It’s a wonder you haven’t driven her away to 
make a home for herself with your surly ways. 
Now if you don’t treat her right, I ’ll offer her a 
home with my own girls, for she ’s able to pay 
her way as far as her expenses is concerned, and 
as for the love, I ’ll throw that in. Get out of 
that chair and come and help me. You a’ n’t 
sick any more; you ’re only lazy.” 

Never before in all her life had Aunt Martha 
listened to such plain talk, and it had the whole- 
some effect of a vigorous tonic. It had never oc- 
curred to her before that in withholding love and 
kindness from the motherless girl she had done 
her as grievous an injustice as if she had not given 
her enough to eat. Now that her eyes were 
opened to it, she saw too how selfish and ungrate- . 
ful she had been during her illness in exacting so 
much attention from Etta and never repaying her 
even by a word of thanks. 

“Eazy!” The word stirred her very blood 
and made her get out of her chair with more an- 
imation than she expected ever to feel again. 


268 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

Was Etta going to die ? Had she really work- 
ed herself to death? Her aunt was so anxious 
that she forgot to be angry, and she knelt down 
by the prostrate girl with real sorrow in her face. 

‘ ‘ There, honey, now that makes you feel bet- 
ter, don’t it?” said Mrs. Carson, bathing Etta’s 
face with cold water and rubbing her hands. 
“Now try if I can help you to the bed, so you 
can lie down and rest a bit,” she went on as Etta 
opened her eyes at last. 

She half carried, half dragged the girl into 
the bedroom and laid her on the bed, spreading a 
shawl over her. 

“Now I’m going for the doctor,” she an- 
nounced defiantly, turning to Aunt Martha, who 
had followed her into the bedroom and stood look- 
ing helplessly at her. “I a’ n’t a-going to ask 
your permission neither, for you were so powerful 
stingy about having him come to see you so often 
I suppose you’d think it was a waste of money 
entirely to have him for Etta.” And she marched 
off without waiting for any response, longing to 
emphasize her indignation by slamming the door, 
but prudently refraining for Etta’s sake. 

It was so comfortable to lie still for a little 
while when she was so tired out and exhausted ; 
and Etta lay with closed eyes till the doctor came. 

“I’m afraid it ’s going to be a case of typhoid 


JOY AFTER SORROW. 269 

fever,” he said briefly after he had asked a few 
questions and felt the fluttering pulse. 

“Where would she get typhoid fever?” asked 
Aunt Martha half defiantly, half anxiously. 

“Well, all she’s been through with the last 
few weeks was enough to give her almost any- 
thing,” said the doetor, to Mrs. Carson’s intense 
delight. 

“ She was not strong enough to stand the con- 
tinuous strain day and night upon her; and then 
sleeping on the floor, having her rest broken every 
hour, not having enough out -door exercise or 
nourishing food, were all calculated to pull her 
down. She had her hands so full in caring for 
you that she did not take any care of herself; and 
you remember I warned you some time ago that 
she was overdoing. She will need the best of 
care and nursing now.” 

He left prescriptions for her, promising to look 
in durinof the afternoon and see how she was com- 
ing on, and then went his way. 

Mrs. Carson bustled about and fixed Etta com- 
fortably in bed. When she had dropped into a 
quiet slumber the good neighbor went back to 
her own work, of which she had plenty, though 
she was always ready to leave it to go to any 
other person’s assistance. 

For an hour Etta slept, and through that hour 


270 MRS. morse’s girls. 

her aunt sat beside her, a complete revolution ta- 
king place in her heart. She was not a cruel or 
bad woman, only unloving, and perhaps given to 
selfishness; but as she looked back over the past 
and remembered how persistently she had denied 
caresses and love to Etta even as a baby, her heart 
smote her. The girl’s life had indeed been a 
lonely, loveless one, and how had she repaid these 
years of loneliness and neglect? By care and 
nursing that might perhaps cost her her own life; 
for the doctor, wishing to insure care for h*er, had 
emphasized the fact that she was very ill. 

A great wave of remorseful tenderness surged 
over Aiint Martha’s heart as she remembered the 
unselfish devotion with which Etta had nursed 
her through all these long weeks without a word 
or look of thanks. 

How could she have been so blind, so selfish ? 
Etta had won her love in spite of herself; but now 
it was too late to hope for Etta’s love. She must 
have wholly alienated the girl by her fretfulness 
and bitter speeches. And now that she thought 
it would not be possible to win her niece’s love, 
strange as it may seem, she coveted it. 

“I’m a lonely old woman, but we might have 
been happy if I had only let her love me,” she 
said to herself as she knelt beside the bed and 
looked at the quiet face. 


JOY AFTER SORROW. 


271 


Etta’s eyes opened and she saw her aunt be- 
side her. She looked at her in surprise, not think- 
inof what emotion had drawn her there. 

“Etta, child!” Surely the voice was trem- 
ulous with feeling, and the old, hard ring was 
gone. “I’ve been a blind, selfish old woman 
and I don’t deserve to have you love me, but — ” 

She never finished the sentence, for Etta put' 
out her arms with a radiant smile of content 
lighting up her face and drew her aunt to her. 

‘ ‘ I shall be so happy now if you will love me, ’ ’ 
she whispered softly, forgetting all her loneliness 
and heartache in the joy of having won her aunt’s 
love. 

For a day or two she lay smilingly content on 
her pillow, forgetting all of unkindness that she 
had ever received, while her heart overflowed 
with love that seemed all the stronger because it 
had been repressed so long. Then the fever in 
her veins burned more fiercely, and she lay uncon- 
scious for long days, tended lovingly by friends 
who scarcely hoped that her strength would last 
through the long strain upon it. 

Stern and undemonstrative as Aunt Martha 
was by nature, she learned loving, caressing ways 
in these days, and no mother could have watched 
more untiringly beside a child than she did at 
Etta’s bedside. 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


272 

‘ ‘ Pray that she may live till I can show her 
how dear she is to me,” she would entreat Mr. 
Morse; and unused as her lips were to prayer, she 
would follow his petitions with heartfelt earnest- 
ness. 

Mrs. Morse watched beside Etta long hours at 
a time, tears filling her eyes as the girl in her un- 
conscious ravings called for her and told her how 
she loved her. 

Mattie and Nora prayed with intense earnest- 
ness for the friend that they thought was lost to 
them; and Nora longed to have her return to con- 
sciousness, if only for a moment, that she might 
tell her that her self-denial ‘‘for Jesus’ sake” had 
not been in vain, for she had led a friend to the 
Saviour by it. 

What would they have done in these long, 
dark days without the strength that no earthly 
comforter could have given them ? 

But at last the tide turned. The fever slowly 
burned itself away, and Etta, very weak and help- 
less, but out of danger, had passed the crisis in 
safety. 

There was no lack of loving care and attention 
now, and the manifestations of regard that the 
young girl received from all who knew her made 
her very happy. 

Aunt Martha would have felt it to be no more 


JOY AFTER SORROW. 


273 


than right if she had been far from the first in 
Etta’s esteem, Ijut she was strangely touched when 
the girl clung to her with the fondest affection. 

Etta’s dream of happiness was realized now 
that she had a home where she was loved and 
wanted, and her hungry heart was satisfied at 
last. Aunt Martha strove now by the tenderest 
devotion to atone for the long years of neglect, 
and she succeeded, for Etta, happy in the present, 
never cast a backward thought at the dark and 
loveless past. 


18 


Mm. Mome’s Girls. 


274 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

ALL SAFE AT EAST. 

Aee but one now of Mrs. Morse’s girls was 
safe in the fold, and her heart rejoiced over them 
with exceeding joy as they gathered about her 
Sunday after Sunday, united in the bonds of love 
to their Saviour and a warm friendship for each 
other. 

Each one was striving to live a consistent 
Christian life and trying to glorify their Saviour 
by following his example of unselfishness and love. 
Many a failure marked their onward progress, for 
they were not ideals of goodness, but real, every- 
day girls; still they had learned where to go for 
strength and help, and they never gave up en- 
tirely. Not a Sunday passed that Mrs. Morse 
did not impress upon them that now that they had 
come to Jesus themselves, the very knowledge of 
his precious love constituted them ambassadors to 
those who were yet afar off; and they were eager 
to carry the glorious message to father, mother, 
brothers, sisters, friends. 

Only one was still out of Christ, and over that 
one Mrs. Morse’s heart yearned tenderly. The 


AI^I, SAFE AT LAST. 


275 


girls united in earnest prayer for her, and though 
she persisted in absenting herself alike from 
church and Sunday-school, Florence could not 
escape from those loving prayers. 

She had never forgiven Nina for not giving 
up her hope in Jesus when she had bidden her 
choose between that and her friendship ; and 
though Nina had made several advances towards 
reconciliation, Florence had repulsed them all. 

A loving note of entreaty, in which Nina had 
poured out her heartfelt longing that Florence 
would number herself among those who had given 
themselves to Jesus, was returned to her; and after 
that Nina waited patiently for the time, which she 
believed would surely come, when the prayers for 
Florence w^ould be answered. 

But Florence’s heart seemed to grow colder 
and more hardened each day, and if a human 
friend could have read her feelings, he might have 
judged that she had already sinned away her day 
of grace. 

She fancied that she was perfectly happy and 
secure in her indifference, and cultivated advanced 
notions of skepticism and unbelief as being intel- 
lectual. Often she pictured herself as meeting 
death, and fancied she could face it without a 
tremor. 

She was awakened roughly from this delusion 


276 MRS. MORSE’S GIRES. 

one day. She had been feeling rather languid 
and weak all the morning, and going into a small, 
dimly-lighted closet where medicines were kept, 
she took up a bottle that contained, as she sup- 
posed, a tonic which she was accustomed to use. 
Not caring to be at the trouble to procure a glass 
and spoon, she put the bottle to her lips and 
drank about a tablespoonful of its contents. A 
low cry of horror escaped her as she swallowed 
the liquid and recognized the taste of laudanum. 

There was a scene of indescribable distress 
and terror in the Estabrook mansion for a short 
time. Servants were despatched in different di- 
rections for doctors, while Judge Estabrook paced 
up and down the floor nearly beside himself with 
anxiety, and his wife went into hysterics. 

And Florence ? She sat rigid and motionless, 
waiting for the death that she thought was face to 
face with her. She was stunned by the thought 
that life, beautiful as it had been to her, was end- 
ed, and that now the other life would soon begin. 

All her fancied readiness had vanished, all her 
pride and self-righteousness had fallen from her 
like a mantle, and with agony that cannot be put 
into words she realized her utter unfitness for 
death. 

It was too late now, she thought, to make the 
preparation which she would not make before, 


AI.I, SAFE AT LAST. 277 

and not a prayer escaped her rigid lips or rose 
from her paralyzed spirit. 

Oh, for time ! If she had but one day more 
to spend on earth how earnestly she would em- 
ploy it in preparing for death; but now, “Too 
late! too late!” throbbed like a death-knell in 
her brain. 

The doctor rushed in breathless upon the 
scene, while the father walked the room in an- 
guish and the mother screamed and moaned. 

‘ ‘ How much did you take ? Tet me see the 
bottle,” he said hurriedly; and Florence, strange- 
ly composed by the very intensity of her feelings, 
took the bottle from the closet shelf and placed it 
in his hand. 

The doctor held it up to the light, while a 
curious expression found a place on his face. He 
uncorked the bottle, smelled the contents, and 
finally put it to his lips and tasted it. 

“My dear young lady, compose yourself,” he 
said blandly, forgetting that she was the only 
quiet one in the room. “This is indeed lauda- 
num, but such a very diluted solution of it that I 
wonder that you recognized the taste. I would 
not venture to say that you might safely take the 
whole bottle, but the small portion you have 
swallowed will not have any bad effect upon 
you. ’ * 


278 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


A criminal reprieved when he stands upon- 
the scaffold with the black cap upon his head and 
the fatal noose about his neck would alone appre- 
ciate Florence’s feelings as death vanished away 
like a grim phantom, and she knew that her life 
was yet before her — days, years, it might be, of 
that glad being which she called life. 

The doctor’s services were needed by Mrs. 
Estabrook, for on hearing that Florence was safe 
her hysterics became even more alarming than 
they had been before, and the family had their 
hands full in restoring her to rational conscious- 
ness. 

By bedtime that evening the household had 
regained their usual serenity, and only an added 
warmth in the ' good-night salutations reminded 
them of the alarm of the morninof. 

But Florence’s usual indifference had not re- 
turned to her, and she felt that she could never 
win it back again, try as she might. Death had 
terrors for her, and now in the quiet night she 
remembered the great horror that had seized her 
when she thought that her life was ended. 

A deep conviction of sin settled down upon 
her, and the proud heart was humbled as she had 
never dreamed that it could be. 

She was not ignorant of the great truths of 
the Bible, and had memorized many passages in 


AI,L SAFE AT last. 


279 

tlie course of her preparations for Sunday-school 
lessons. But she could find no comfort in these 
garnered passages. Only those that spoke of 
God’s hatred of sin, his wrath against evil-doers, 
and the terrors of the law, came back to add to her 
agony of mind. 

The long hours of the night wore slowly away, 
and still wakeful and tortured by a sense of un- 
pardonable sin, Florence tossed upon her pillow. 
The morning brought no relief, and she locked 
herself in her room, refusing to see or speak to 
any one. 

The searching work of grace was not yet ac- 
complished. The proud heart had to realize its 
lost condition before it would surrender. 

Mr. Morse had heard of Florence’s alarm and 
called to inquire after her. Mrs. Kstabrook told 
him what a shock it must have been to her nerves, 
though they had not suspected it at the time, for 
she had shut herself in her room all day and re- 
fused admittance to every one. 

Some intuition of the possible cause of her 
emotion dawned upon Mr. Morse, and he asked 
if he might have a little conversation with her. 

“Gladly, if I can persuade her to see you, 
Mr. Morse,” the mother answered, going up 
stairs. 

Florence’s first impulse was to refuse to see 


28 o 


MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 


him, but a desire for guidance and help led her to 
go down to him. 

Very unlike the proud, self-possessed young 
lady that she had always appeared hitherto was 
the haggard, anxious-looking girl who came to- 
wards Mr. Morse with the inquiry that so many 
years ago fell upon the apostle’s ears: 

“What shall I do to be saved?” 

There was no affectation of indifference, no 
hesitation in the avowal of need, only that long- 
ing heart-cry, “What shall I do to be saved?” 
And as Paul had done, so Mr. Morse tried to do. 

He gave the simple gospel message to this 
young girl who prided herself upon her intellect 
and culture just as he would have given it to an 
unlettered, ignorant person : “Believe on the Lord 
Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.” 

For a time his words were without effect. ‘ ‘ It 
cannot be for me,” was the piteous answer when 
he repeated comforting assurances. ‘ ‘ I am lost — 
lost !” was the reply to all the promises of par- 
don. 

‘ ‘ Then it is to you these words are spoken, ’ ’ 
he urged, longing to send a ray of light into the 
gloom that surrounded the distressed spirit. 

He prayed earnestly for Florence, his whole 
heart going up in the petitions which embodied 
her needs; and at last the terrible conflict which 


ALL SAFE AT LAST. 


281 


had almost exhausted both mind and body was 
over, and peace came to comfort the aching heart. 
Just in proportion to her deep conviction of sin 
was pardon precious, and she loved much because 
she realized that she was forgiven much. 

It was joyful news that Mr. Morse carried to 
his waiting wife that night. And there was “joy 
in the presence of the angels of God” over an- 
other penitent sinner who had returned to the 
Father’s love and forgiveness. 

The next morning Florence went to seek her 
long-estranged friend, hardly daring to hope for 
forgiveness after her many rebuffs, yet trusting to 
the loving heart that she had at last learned to 
appreciate. 

“ Nina, darling, will you forgive me? I was 
terribly wrong, but I know now the preciousness 
of the hope you would not give up.” 

And Nina with a cry of joy rushed into tJie 
outstretched arms and clung lovingly to her 
friend. 

They went together to seek Mrs. Morse, and 
there too all wrongs had already been forgiven, 
and only love awaited the penitent one. 

All saved now; not one in the little class that 
had not been reconciled to their Father. A joy- 
ful communion it was when they met together 
around the table of their Father’s love and par- 


282 MRS. MORSE’S GIRLS. 

took of the emblems of the Saviour’s death and 
sacrifice. 

The whole class for Jesus ! A tie of love that 
could never be broken bound scholars and teacher 
together; and as Mrs. Morse realized that her 
girls were one in their love for their Saviour and 
their desire to work for him her heart sang a glad 
hymn of thanksgiving. Truly the Master had 
blessed her labors and let her garner a plenteous 
harvest for him. 


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